The Power of Prophecy: Simulacrum
by Ariel D
Summary: Story 8. When Jarlaxle's ambitions cause the group to cross paths with the Zhents and a prophecy, both the drow and Entreri confront problems in their friendship and inner selves. How will their relationships with Nyx and Tai be affected?
1. Simulacrum

**Important Note:** I built my series of fanfics on SotS, and I took these characters forward on one possible road they could have chosen. Some of what I did bears a resemblance to what RAS did, and the rest became **AU** as of the publication of "Wickless in the Nether" in 2005. So please enjoy these stories as an alternative fate for our beloved characters—a path they could have taken but one RAS didn't choose to explore.

Likewise, I based my portrayal of Entreri's childhood on "The Third Level," a short story RAS wrote back in 1993. In that story, fourteen year old Entreri remembers being sexually abused by three people, not just his uncle. I will not change my fanfics in light of the revision in RotP, so simply take the difference with a grain of salt.

As always, please remember that Artemis and Jarlaxle have undergone 7 stories' worth of development and change, and therefore they will behave and react somewhat differently than they do in canon.

* * *

**The Power of Prophecy: Simulacrum**

By Ariel

Disclaimer: Artemis Entreri and all other recognizable characters belong to R.A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. No challenge to the copyright is intended or should be inferred. The following story is just for the amusement of the fans and will never make any profit.

_Simulacrum: An insubstantial form, reflection, or representation of something real; an image_

**Chapter One**

Jarlaxle had a problem.

Of course, being chased by Zhentarim agents was problematic for most. The drow's black mare galloped down the twisted muddy trail, sending clumps of sod flying in her wake, as arrows whizzed past Jarlaxle's ears on both sides. He could hear the thunder of hooves behind him, coming from the pursuit of a dozen agents—half of the soldiers that had lain in wait just beyond Loudwater's town wall, ready to accost Entreri, Nyx, and him. Word of the bounty assignment they had accepted against the Zhents had traveled fast, it seemed, unlike the other small jobs they'd taken in the past month since defeating the allips.

The problem with the Zhents was not a small one, despite Jarlaxle's many tricks and defenses. His mare's path through the forest forced Jarlaxle to invoke a magical shield against flailing tree branches which slapped against his arms, chest, and face. Even as he protected himself against the low branches, a blue flash exploded next to his head, evidence of a spellcaster. Jarlaxle's hatband absorbed the energy, but it could not do so indefinitely. The drow dared to release one hand from his horse's reins, draw a wand, and fire a cone of freezing snow and ice upon the ground behind him, hoping to cause his pursuers to fall.

Although it was a brilliant idea, Jarlaxle's loosening on the reins allowed his frightened mare to run amok. She bolted blindly, and not just from terror: a new moon left the night soot black, and the forest's canopy shut out the stars. If Jarlaxle couldn't regain control, she might crash into the trees.

But none of this was Jarlaxle's true problem.

The drow had been separated from Entreri and Nyx during the Zhent ambush, for the soldiers had split forces and driven them apart in the forest. The only one who was likely not in danger was Tai, whose role in their new job had led him west to the next town. But such were the dangers of accepting a multifaceted job from a wealthy merchant, and this also was not Jarlaxle's problem. He had conquered far more complicated setbacks.

No, the drow's problem was his unsettling realization that despite his own danger, he was more worried about Entreri's safety: it was a realization unprecedented, sudden . . . and world-altering.

And so Jarlaxle charged down the muddy trail, fighting his mare back under control, consciously aware that his growing feelings of friendship for Entreri had culminated in his traveling a second road in his heart—and unsure of where this new road would lead him.

* * *

Artemis Entreri slashed at the knees of Zhentarim soldier's horse, bringing down both horse and rider as they charged him. Having lost his horse early in the fight, Entreri had focused his energy on forcing all the other riders to dismount. With the final solider horseless, Entreri charged into the fray, joining Nyx in her efforts to dispatch the dozen Zhent agents. 

The first solider fired at Entreri with a crossbow, but the assassin knocked aside the bolt with his dagger and sliced the man's hand off, weapon and all. As he fell away screaming, a second Zhent attempted to crack Entreri's skull with a quarter staff; the assassin dodged the blow, catching the strike with both his blades, which he angled sideways so the staff would be directed away. Entreri then kicked him in the side, knocking him backward before charging forward with his new sword, which had been named Black Widow, leading. The soldier parried the strike, but Entreri disengaged and spun around behind him, burying his dagger in the man's kidney.

The second solider hadn't even collapsed before a third was barreling down upon Entreri, leveling a long spear as though he'd turn the assassin into food on a spit. Entreri drew his sword into an upward block, redirecting the spear, and then gave his attacker a forehead butt. The man stumbled away, but Entreri pursued, slicing him in half with the magically enhanced Black Widow.

Entreri whirled to face his next opponent, for he could sense the presence of at least two more men. In fact, three had squared off with him. The first Zhent wielded shuriken not unlike those of Nyx. A monk, Entreri thought, as the man let loose a barrage of flying metal. Entreri picked the throwing stars off one-by-one, smacking them aside as he charged the man. The soldier brought up his fists, obviously unafraid to fight unarmed, but Entreri jumped and bounded off a tree trunk, vaulting over the man's head and slicing through his spine on the way down. The remaining two agents yelled and ran at him then, each of them brandishing swords.

For many minutes Entreri was consumed with the fight, the dance of blades—to parry and block, to thrust and strike. He caught one man's blades low and kicked over their locked steel, then disengaged and whirled, turning his sword and dagger in a corkscrew pattern against the strikes of the second Zhent. A mere nick against this man's throat, and Entreri had lethally poisoned him with his new blade; the man fell back a step, dropping his defenses.

Entreri, however, didn't press his advantage and turned instead to face the charge of the other agent. Engaging Black Widow's second magical power, Entreri pressed forward, seemingly against the air, and caused time itself to slow. The Zhent's charge became almost comically sluggish, and Entreri leisurely cut through him in a crisscross pattern. Time snapped back into motion, and the corpse fell at the assassin's feet.

Across the clearing, Nyx Jassan—who had already taken down three archers with her shuriken— was being circled by three swordsmen. The first two charged her from each side, so she wrapped her nunchuku around one man's blade and arm and spun herself around his body, forcing him forward into the second man's attack. She disengaged her nunchuku as the man was impaled, then kicked the corpse forward into her second attacker. Caught off guard, the Zhent stumbled backward, and Nyx used to the corpse as a platform from which to launch a roundhouse kick at the man's head. With a battle yell to ignite her _ki_, she emptied a blast of green energy into his skull, killing him instantly.

The third agent had charged her during her attack, but she pivoted and faced him, kicking his sword arm to the side. Then she snapped her nunchuku horizontally to the left and then back to the right in a **Z** pattern, striking her opponent brutally and breaking his bones. When he yelled and fell to his knees, she delivered a thrust punch to his face, driving his nose back into his brain.

"Lovely," Entreri commented, slinging the blood from his green-tinted sword blade.

Nyx grinned at him. "No more lovely that the man you hacked in half."

For a moment they shared a gaze of respect, but then Entreri stopped to glance over the carnage. He sheathed his weapons with a shade too much force and sighed.

"I should stop listening to Jarlaxle," he said. "We were supposed to go to Waterdeep, not stop off at Loudwater and get embroiled in an attempted Zhentarim invasion!" He growled to himself, suspicious about Jarlaxle's willingness to get involved with the Zhents in any fashion.

Nyx cringed. "I can't say I'm happy about running up against the Zhents, with their wizards, underhanded merchants, and army. I grew up listening to the stories of how they're trying to take over this entire area and all the people who have died as a result."

Entreri nodded—for years he'd been hearing such rumors himself. "It would have been better to stay clear, but no! Jarlaxle happily waltzes us into another bodyguard job."

"But the Zhentarim would have killed that poor girl!" Nyx exclaimed. "Especially if they believe that prophecy about her. Could you really just walk off and let them sacrifice her and get their way? When I think of that, I have to say I'm glad we came along in time to get the job." She paused and smirked. "If it bothers you that much, just remember that we'll be well paid."

Entreri snorted. _You'll be well-paid if you survive, you mean._ "At least Tai seemed excited about the task of protecting the girl." He sighed. "Do you remember what Edwin Garner said back in Withey Township? About prophecies and blood?"

"Something like 'It is most always about blood. The spilling of blood is a symbol and a sacrament, a simulacrum for worlds to come.' It does seem like his warning had some weight to it." Nyx seemed to ponder the thought for a moment, then shook her head and smiled. "But are you surprised about Tai's interest in the task? It might not be a case of vengeance, but Miri is beautiful and the same age as Tai."

Entreri snorted again. He'd thought Tai had forgotten to breathe when Miri had entered the room, as though the priest had been instantly hyperaware of the young woman's fine-featured face or perhaps the curves of her body, which were accented by the tight waist of her flowing white dress. "Yes, he seemed quite eager to accept the task of getting her away from here."

Nyx playfully punched him on the shoulder. "And you seemed eager to take the bounty assignment of killing the Zhent ringleaders." She grinned at him, apparently unable to refrain from teasing him. "Maybe you're looking forward to a hero's welcome in Loudwater after we've saved their fair city from Zhent control?"

"Hardly." He smirked. "I merely thought that it sounds like a challenge, and I live for a challenge." He paused, frowning. "But we have to find Jarlaxle first."

"You sound worried."

"About him? He's a walking arsenal." Entreri shrugged and tried to ignore a twinge in his stomach—the type he usually felt when facing mortal danger. Why would he be having that feeling now that he was safe?

Nyx just smiled.

The sound of approaching hoof beats put them both on alert. Jarlaxle thundered into the clearing on his horse, reined the mare to a halt, and dismounted in one graceful motion.

"I see you two have dispatched your enemies with your martial prowess," he greeted him, removing his floppy hat and dipping them an exaggerated bow. He straightened and plopped the hat back on his head, causing the hat's oversized feather to sway wildly. "I applaud you."

"And your opponents?" Entreri asked, concerned with the speed at which Jarlaxle had entered the clearing.

"Either frozen solid or full of too many broken bones to crawl," the drow replied flippantly.

"Don't be so dismissive!" Entreri snapped, caught off-guard by an unidentifiable anger. "If you don't restrain your recklessness, you'll be killed next time."

Jarlaxle blinked, apparently shocked, but then a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Reckless?" He threw up hand up to his chest in a dramatic gesture. "Just because my suggested route out of town resulted in an ambush—"

"I'm not speaking of the route; I mean your battle tactics! The way you just—"

"Gentlemen," Nyx interrupted. "I think the relevant observation for the moment is that we're safe for now."

"Very well," Entreri conceded, still plotting to discuss the drow's madness with him at some point when they were alone.

Jarlaxle lifted a finger. "But we shall only remain safe for the length of time it takes us to locate the Stonars's castle."

Entreri sighed, not liking their new job in the least. The group had traveled west down The Black Road from Withey Township to Llorkh, which was a town heavily under Zhentarim control. From there, they'd worked their way to the free town of Loudwater, making their way ever closer to their destination of Waterdeep. A wealthy merchant named Morn Brightwood, who had risen to prominence in the relatively peaceful town of Loudwater, had snagged Entreri and his friends when they'd stopped to overnight.

Of course, Brightwood had accomplished this task only because when Jarlaxle had seen his vaguely-worded bounty posting on the town board and learned of his wealth, he'd cajoled the others into checking it out. An hour later, Entreri had found himself, Nyx, and Jarlaxle employed to assassinate Melcer and Lander Stonar—twin brothers who were attempting to bring Loudwater under Zhentarim control. In the meantime, Tai's task had become to get Master Brightwood's only daughter, Miri, to safety because of some prophecy Entreri hadn't really bothered to listen to, much less remember.

In short, Entreri, Nyx, and Jarlaxle had to breach a Zhent castle and kill the warrior and wizard who lived inside, a task that could prove to be either overly easy and boring or downright suicidal. Given the rumors surrounding the Stonar brothers, though, it was likely the latter.

"Why do I let you talk me into these things?" Entreri groaned.

Jarlaxle just grinned. "The adventure! The excitement! Not to mention the profit of Master Brightwood's rather—let us say—generous reward." He glanced sideways at Nyx. "In addition, our Holy Javelin here gets the opportunity to take vengeance upon two men who, in their quest for power, have killed hundreds of people."

"Tortured and killed," Nyx corrected, "if Master Brightwood and the townspeople are to be believed."

"Precisely, my dear monk." Jarlaxle patted his mare's neck. "So perhaps we should begin our—" He paused suddenly and smiled at her. "But first let me remark upon how beautiful you are today."

Entreri groaned again, even as Nyx snorted. With Tai's somewhat awkward but patient help, the monk had altered her hair style so that she wore her hair in a cascading crown: a small braid entwined her head, and the rest of her auburn hair fell in curls down her back, framing her narrow shoulders.

"I'm still not sure if this will be practical," she said, pushing a few stray hairs from her face. "But I get bored if I don't change my hair every once in a while."

Jarlaxle pointed to her leather pants and matching sleeveless vest. "Then why not consider a—"

"No," she interrupted with a small smile, stopping the drow before he wandered off on one of his spiels.

Entreri motioned at his own silk black shirt and the new black leather utility belt that crisscrossed his chest. "What is your obsession with dressing your friends?" He motioned at the frightened horses scattered through the trees. "Turn your attention to finding two uninjured horses for Nyx and me to ride. We have a castle to find."

Jarlaxle grinned at him. "And two Stonar brothers to kill? Certainly, my friend, certainly."

Entreri sighed, not at all sure that Jarlaxle's true intentions were so simple and direct. In truth, the drow's plans were never simple or direct, and to the assassin, this portended trouble.

* * *

From his perch upon a fallen tree trunk, Tai Vatoshie watched his charge's every movement. Miri Brightwood walked with the same graceful precision of Artemis Entreri, except with that added touch of femininity no man could possess, and Tai was fascinated by her. He had found himself unusually drawn to her since meeting her the night before. 

In fact, since he and his companions had stopped in a wooded glade to eat lunch, Tai had not removed his gaze from the half-elf maiden for a moment. He had admired her upturned ears, caught in an elegant arc somewhere between a human's and an elf's . . . He had noted the way her platinum blonde hair flowed down her shoulders and the way her eye color matched the soft pine green of her traveling clothes . . . He had even noticed that as she moved about the glade, gathering a few berries from vines, the sunlight which dappled the clearing would catch her hair and invoke a golden glow. Tai sighed, enthralled in a way he couldn't quite express.

"If you stare at her any harder, you'll be raping her with your eyes," snarled a male voice.

Startled, Tai jumped, but he schooled himself to not frown at the young priest who joined him on the fallen log. "I was doing no such thing. As her lifelong friend, you most be aware that Miri-_sen_ is uncommonly beautiful. I hardly meant any disrespect."

The young priest did not look impressed by Tai's admission. When Tai had taken the job of protecting Miri Brightwood's life from the Zhentarim, he had not realized he would be blessed with the somewhat haughty and snappish addition of her childhood friend, Darvin Greycastle, who—like Miri—was a half-elf. Upon first meeting Darvin, Tai had been excited to learn that he was also a priest of Hoar. However, Darvin had declared himself leader of their group by right of age (he was 18, only a year older than Tai and Miri) and had insisted that Tai's additional protection was not particularly necessary given that Darvin was "greatly blessed in might by Hoar."

"Of course I am well aware of Miri's beauty," Darvin began. "But Miri does not need—" He paused. "What did you call her? 'Miri Sin'?"

Tai sighed. He'd slipped and used one of the Tethyr name honorifics. It was something he usually caught in time, remembering to call people "master" and "mistress" or "lord" and "lady," but occasionally he forgot and called them "-sen" or "-sema." How to explain this to a Northerner? "I was adding an honorific to her name that means 'mistress.' It was a slip. Although I'd be calling her Brightwood-_sen_ had she not bade me to address her by her personal name."

"You don't call me Darvin-_sen_," the priest said.

"As fellow priests of Hoar who are basically the same age, we're peers," Tai said, smiling sweetly. "The honorific is unnecessary." Which was a bald lie—dropping the honorific so quickly was actually an insult.

Darvin looked oddly displeased by this information, as though it was somehow offensive or bizarre. "Is that why you didn't refer to your partners with honorifics?"

"No," Tai replied. "I don't use honorifics with them because they are my friends; the lack of an honorific implies closeness and familiarity." He grinned to himself over the memory of Entreri asking him to call him "just Entreri" several months earlier—in fact, a few times he'd even been able to call him Artemis.

Darvin ran both hands through his short, spiky black hair in a show of frustration. "Sounds needlessly complicated to me."

Miri had wandered closer to them and chose that moment to enter the conversation. "I think it's lovely," she said, smiling softly. She handed Tai a handful of berries. "You don't have to call me 'Mistress Miri' or 'Miri-_sen_', but if you wish to call me Miri-_sen_, I certainly won't mind."

Tai returned her smile. "Thank you, Miri-_sen_."

Darvin scowled, and Tai wondered at the man's temper.

"Now," Miri said, retrieving her short spear from the tree she'd leaned it against, "shall we continue on to Zelbross? If there is any chance we're being pursued—"

"Of course!" Darvin said, standing and brushing off his white clerical robes. "Your protection is first and foremost my concern." He jerked up his javelin, which was his only weapon, and marched back toward the road.

Tai raised an eyebrow at this display, instantly reminded of how he'd immediately failed Darvin's "assessment" of his worth as a priest of Hoar: he didn't wear clerical robes, had admitted to never using Hoar's divine power to fly, and didn't carry a javelin, which was Hoar's favored weapon. Tai snorted to himself. Flying! As if he wanted his feet anywhere but firmly planted on the ground!

Shaking away the irritating thoughts, Tai stood and offered Miri his arm. "Shall we follow our fearless captain?" he asked lightly.

Miri chuckled and took his arm as they followed after the priest. "Don't mind Darvin, really. He truly is a dear. He just feels protective of me because we've been friends since we were barely out of the nursery. He forgets sometimes that I'm well-trained in the use of my weapon—" She held up the short spear she carried in her free hand. "—and that I have the power of nature to call upon."

Tai nodded, for he'd learned that Miri was a druid. "I have no doubt of that. But with the Zhentarim wanting you . . ." He hesitated. "I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind repeating the prophecy that they believe concerns you? Your father explained everything so quickly last night I could hardly keep up."

Miri exhaled heavily. "Certainly. The horrid prophecy reads like this: 'Whoever the serpent marks shall be cursed with the poisoned blood that shall damn or save the world in its passing. Brightly she shines in the wood, this wretched creature, yet she destroys the trees and streams with the opening of the portal.'" She glanced at Tai and frowned, her brow creasing. "It's an old elven prophecy about some woman whose blood is supposed to open a portal to an abysmal dimension and release demons and monsters into this land. Thanks to the 'brightly she shines in the wood' part, some people believe that I'm a perfect fit since I'm named Brightwood." Her frowned deepened, revealing either anger or fear—or perhaps both.

Tai felt his stomach clench. "But wouldn't you have to be marked by a serpent?"

Miri stopped and pulled away from Tai. She yanked up the side of her tunic and exposed her ribs, revealing a red birthmark in the shape of a snake.

"Oh," Tai said, his voice utterly flat.

After smoothing her tunic down again, Miri entwined her arm with Tai's and resumed walking. "My family tried to hide the fact I have the birthmark, but a healer who treated me as a child saw it. And now the Zhentarim have heard about it, and only Eldath knows what they think they'll accomplish if they should spill my blood and find the prophecy to be true."

Tai cringed. "But the prophecy says 'shall damn or save the world,' right? So doesn't that mean . . .?"

Miri released his arm, skipped forward several steps, then turned back and grinned at him. "Why do you think I became a druid?" She whirled around twice, throwing her arms wide. "I will save the world instead!" she yelled, causing Darvin to look back at them and a few birds to fly from their perches. She stopped and smiled at Tai. "Truly, I refuse to accept that my role will be one of destruction. With every ounce of my being, I am fighting for a positive outcome."

Tai smiled, touched by her unconquerable spirit, and knew that he had to do everything in his power to keep her safe—both for her sake and for the world's sake. He also knew that part of his success depended upon Entreri, Jarlaxle, and Nyx, who had the daunting task of slaying the Zhent ringleaders who had ordered Miri's capture in their preparations to seize Loudwater.

"Oh, Hoar, help us all," Tai whispered.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to all who read and review! If you're curious, I made up the honorifics that Tai uses, but there is evidence that some of the cultures in FR use honorifics. _

_I ask for your patience; I have become increasingly busy since I first began writing fanfic. I can't write as often as I'd like, so I may post slowly at times. However, the good news is that I do have several scenes written for both this story and the final one in the trilogy. In addition, I'm working on a new humor series._


	2. Shadows

_A/N: My deepest apologies for the extremely long delay in updating. I have been overwhelmed, but things are calmer now—although still busy. Chapters 3 and 4 are being beta read, and chapters 5-7 are halfway complete. Chapter 8 is the only one I haven't worked on yet. So updates should be steady from now on._

_As always, I bluntly admit that my sources of inspiration are often anime and the Buffyverse. Of course, I do aim for a fresh take._

_Thank you to Darkhelmet, Chi, and Rezuri for help brainstorming and/or beta reading!_

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Dust motes glided through shafts of the afternoon sun, which filtered through the crimson and yellow stained glass of Lander Stonar's study window. The warrior observed the motes from his desk, relaxing by watching their slow fall to the rich maroon Calishite rug below. Having spent the majority of his twenty-seven years encircled by the death and blood which followed Zhentarim families, Lander wanted to be surrounded by nothing but beauty when at home. As a result his study, like the rest of his castle, was filled with pastoral paintings, richly-spun tapestries, and ivory statues that revealed the soft curves and busts of women.

Of course, the great irony contained within Lander's birthright estate was that the castle was more than a home—it was a deathtrap, a masterpiece which eradicated all intruders. This last thought made the warrior smile, for he knew he would soon have guests. Three of them, in fact: a drow, a human assassin, and a monk of Hoar, the last of whom he hoped would survive since his spies indicated she was beautiful. However, now was not the time to think of women. Lander's real concern was leeching information from an elven prophecy that should seal his current plan's success.

Lander experienced a moment's relief, then, when the heavy oak door to his study swung open and admitted his twin, Melcer. The typically grim wizard sported a half-smile—a sure sign of success.

"Do tell," Lander said, sitting up straight in his chair.

Melcer's shadow of a grin turned into a self-satisfied smirk. "Although I admit I've never found a subject more difficult to research and probe, I have—of course—collected some helpful details."

_Yes, I figured that out already,_ Lander thought with a mental sigh. His brother had a way of stating the obvious, as if he had something to prove. Still, Lander bore it with the patience he believed befit an elder twin. "Such as?"

Melcer straightened his navy robes as though he were going to address a crowd. "The sacrifice must be made during a night of the crescent moon and must be done outside in a wooded area. Wherever the blood first falls will be where the portal opens, so we must be careful how we position the girl and where we cut her. If we get any blood on us, the portal would literally open through our bodies."

"A disturbing thought," Lander said, watching his twin closely. The face he studied could be his own: long black hair, dark eyes vaguely slanted, and a sallow complexion. A close observer would note that Melcer's face was faintly thinner, but Lander himself noted something far more meaningful: the crinkling of skin on his forehead that revealed his unease. "You're worried still. Why?"

"Prophecies are tricky," Melcer replied. "Some are even purposefully misleading. I feel as though I could gather information for the next year and still not know enough."

Lander stood and placed both hands on his twin's shoulders, squeezing them. "Don't fret. We know the identity of the sacrifice, and our soldiers are tracking her down now. We'll capture her, string her upside down like a dead cow, and bleed her dry." Enchanted by the picture he painted with his words, Lander continued, allowing his voice to rise to theatrical proportions. "Then portal will open, and we'll be in control of an army of monsters that will bring this entire continent to its knees! We shall begin by ruling this region, but in the end we'll rule the entire organization. Never lose faith in that!"

Melcer's signature frown had returned, but Lander caught the softening of his eyes. "When we work together, I can doubt nothing."

Feeling triumphant, Lander squeezed his shoulders again. _This is why we'll succeed when so many others have failed._ "That's my little brother."

* * *

Entreri stared at the castle that towered before them. Made entirely of black stone, the fortress asserted itself as proud with its six turrets—one on each corner and two twin spires jutting up in the middle. Fortunately, the builders hadn't seen fit to dig a moat, but they had perched the castle at the top of a sheer cliff. The assassin could only imagine the mechanical and magical defenses guarding such a residence. 

"Brilliant idea," he sighed, inexplicably irritated with his mission.

"You like challenges," Jarlaxle reminded him.

"But I don't like exhausting myself before I can even reach my kill," Nyx chimed in.

"What she said," Entreri replied. He scanned the surrounding forest for threats, not at all sure they weren't being spied upon or followed.

Jarlaxle grinned at them. "Come, now! This is what you live for!" He gestured at Entreri. "The judicious use of wit and intelligence, followed by sheer martial prowess." He then waved his hand toward Nyx. "And pure vengeance against the deserving."

Entreri and Nyx traded looks.

"He's being rather obvious this time," she said, scuffing the dirt with one boot.

"He promised to keep his manipulations transparent," Entreri replied. _Or most of them, anyway,_ he thought to himself. _I'm still suspicious about his motives for taking this job._

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Now, now. No need for you to both become grumpy at once. The last thing I need is to be in the center of a contest between the two of you to see who can be the most sour and cynical." He patted the Bregan D'aerthe emblem on his cloak. "Besides, some strategic levitation should make scaling the cliff easier."

Nyx ignored the drow and smirked at Entreri. "You have poor taste in friends. You should be glad to have snared someone like Tai."

"You're a poor friend, too?" the assassin quipped.

"To have not killed the drow upon sight so that months down the road we wouldn't be faced with this insanity? Yes."

Entreri pondered this and nodded. "I see your point." He allowed the corner of his mouth to curl and couldn't stop himself from adding a jab for Jarlaxle. "You could kill him now."

Nyx snickered.

Jarlaxle had cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Kill the only one of us who has good taste and good sense? Suicidal at best." He pointed to the cliff. "Shall we?"

"Take me up first," Entreri said. "I'm sure there are traps which will need disarming. If anything attacks Nyx during my transit, she can handle herself."

"I'll take that as a compliment," the monk said.

"You should," Jarlaxle replied as he wrapped his arms around Entreri's waist. "He doesn't say nice things unless he means them."

Entreri frowned, uncomfortable with the close contact. Few people in his life had embraced him, but he schooled himself to be mature about it—there was no other way to ensure he was transported safely. He grasped Jarlaxle's shoulders and then held on as the drow levitated them up the cliff. At first, he stared down, but the sight of Nyx and the trees becoming smaller made him too conscious of the height. However, when he glanced upward, the towering castle seemed to be falling toward him in some kind of optical illusion he couldn't explain. In the end, he just stared at the cliff, and Jarlaxle chuckled.

Once at the top, Entreri scrambled onto solid ground, crouched by the castle wall, and checked for traps. Finding none, he watched as Jarlaxle repeated the trip, bringing Nyx up.

When Nyx pulled herself onto the cliff top, her sheer whiteness made her sprinkling of freckles stand out. "I don't ever want to repeat that experience."

Jarlaxle was grinning. "But you must admit that it was much quicker than scaling it."

Entreri ignored them both, assessing the ways of breaching the castle wall. "We may have some climbing to do anyway." He ran his hand over the stone, checking for finger grips, but the castle seemed made of a material like obsidian—smooth and black.

Nyx joined him, checking for cracks. "Do you have rope?"

Jarlaxle patted the wall. "Again, there—"

He never finished the sentence. The instant the drow's skin joined the humans' in touching the stone, Entreri felt his stomach lurch. A brilliant flash of light like red lightning stung his eyes, and then the black stone seemed to blur past him. He closed his eyes, lost his balance as the ground seemed to give away, and then fell on his knees as gravity seemed to snap back into place. After waiting for his head to stop spinning, he opened his eyes, and registered he was no longer in front of the castle. In fact, he was no longer outside. He was kneeling on a crimson tile floor in the middle of a hallway. The ceiling arched dramatically over his head, creating a corridor shaped like an upside-down **V.**

"Teleportation," Entreri spat.

Nyx, who knelt beside him, had her hand over her stomach. She inhaled slowly. "Beautiful."

Jarlaxle, who had somehow managed to retain his feet, studied the mural that ran the entire length of the corridor on both sides. "In a purely aesthetic sense, yes, but I'd say we're in a spot of trouble."

Entreri stood and frowned at the mural, which depicted dragons, gorgons, and chimera that were frying, goring, and eating humans. "Master Brightwood had better be good for the other half of the gold he promised us."

Jarlaxle slapped him on the shoulder. "Just gold? Dream bigger! Who knows what may come of this adventure! We may gain both fortune and fame, a territory all our own, or—"

"Unspeakable deaths," Entreri interrupted. "Don't forget about the part where we're in danger."

Jarlaxle patted his necklaces. "I haven't."

_Of course you're safe._ "Although I admit that if you could speak gold and gems into existence, you'd be set for life," Entreri snapped, suddenly irritated again.

Jarlaxle grew suddenly somber. "Words are powerful—more powerful than anyone realizes. Words of prayers or spells, certainly, but common words, too. You do indeed create and destroy worlds with what you say. And you, my friend, paint your world black."

Entreri blinked at the way the drow's façade had dropped away and revealed such seriousness.

"Focus, gentlemen," Nyx said. "Trap. Strange hallway. Escape."

The mercenaries glanced at her.

"Right you are," Jarlaxle replied, smiling.

"Good." Nyx turned to survey the hallway. "I guess we have to check for traps," she began, taking a step forward.

Entreri's sixth sense immediately screamed at him. "Wait!" he yelled.

A click sounded as Nyx stepped on one of the crimson tiles, and a whirling, circular blade shot from the wall. The monk sprung sideways, tucking into a roll and springing back to her feet. The arm holding the blade stopped a half inch from her chest.

"Hells!" she said, gasping for breath. All the color had drained from her face once again. "When I said we should check for traps, I didn't realize I was on top of one."

"I suspect we're in an underground labyrinth," Entreri said. He pointed to the torches set in the walls. "There's no natural light, and—" He shrugged. "My sense of direction simply tells me."

"I agree," Jarlaxle said. "It smells familiar—much like the Underdark."

Nyx scooted free of the blade and wiped sweat from her brow. "And of course this would be a labyrinth filled with traps."

Entreri smirked. "Is there any other kind?"

The monk pointed to the mural. "Does that mean there are dragons, chimera, and gorgons down here?"

"One hopes not," Jarlaxle sighed.

"Having a drow is like having a bad luck charm." Entreri smiled tightly. "I'm sure we'll meet all sorts of unpleasant evil." He pointed to the tile floor. "Not the least of which will be mechanical traps."

"I resent that," Jarlaxle said. "But you're right about the traps—mechanical and magical both."

Nyx stared at the blade that had nearly sliced her in half. "Maybe you should lead, Entreri. This is your specialty, right?"

"One of many," Entreri stated bluntly. He took point, testing both the walls and the floor for traps. "This could take awhile."

Nyx sighed. "Patience was never one of my strong points."

"Nor love of death mine," Jarlaxle chimed in.

"Both of you shut up," Entreri said, tapping the floor lightly with his sword tip, "or Tai will be doing our funeral rites over where he thinks the pieces of our bodies might be."

Another tile clicked, releasing a second whirling blade. Entreri yanked his sword back and watched as the blade stopped spinning.

"We'll be as silent as the grave," Nyx said dryly, her tone conveying her growing lethal intent toward the Stonars.

* * *

The sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves to dapple the road with dancing light. Stormrider, the wolf Miri had as her companion, ran ahead of the group checking for signs of enemies. Tai watched the muscles of Stormrider's back and shoulders ripple beneath its silvery fur and felt amazement at the power of the animal. Having the animal's superior sense of smell and hearing on their side made Tai feel safer, but he still kept mental fingers on the pulse of energy between himself and Hoar. 

Since it was Darvin's turn to take rear guard, Tai walked alongside Miri, who admired the trees and wild undergrowth that surrounded them on both sides. Tai thought she seemed at home there among the plants, far more relaxed and natural than she had in her father's brownstone house.

"My aunt reared me," Miri was explaining. She was carrying her short spear in her hand and twirled it as she walked. "My mom died in childbirth, leaving my father alone with me." Her green eyes seemed to darken as she considered the memory.

"Is your aunt an elf, too, then? Your mother's sister?" Tai asked.

"Yep!" Miri grinned at him, the shadows in her eyes immediately banished. "She taught me all about nature. She basically reared me all by herself." She glanced back at Darvin, who kept pace with them ten feet back. "I did have Darvin to play with as a kid, too, and as I've gotten older, my aunt and father have let me make more outside friends."

"Why Darvin?" Tai asked.

"He's the son of my father's closet friend, and Father thought it would be good for me to have contact with another half elf."

Tai glanced back at the surly-looking priest trailing them. His brown hair seemed to stand up into natural spikes and didn't flatten regardless of the number of times he ran his hands through his hair. In contrast to his wild hair, his clerical robes were pristine white even after all their traveling. Although he had never heard of such magic, Tai wondered if the robes were enchanted to stay clean.

"So tell me about yourself now!" Miri chirped. "You said you're from Tethyr and your ancestors are from Unther, but that's it. Tell me how you became a priest of Hoar! Was your father a priest, and you just followed in his footsteps?"

Tai snorted. "No. My father was—and still is—a devout follower of Tyr. It was my uncle's intervention that turned me to the path of Hoar. The church of Tyr allowed my eldest brother to be condemned to death for an act of civil disobedience, so I chose to follow Hoar because he would never condone such a punishment. Hoar is concerned with the spirit of the law while Tyr is concerned with the letter of the law."

Miri nodded, tucking her spear under her arm. "How long ago did he die?"

"When I was six." Tai shook his head. "I suppose it might seem strange, but my brother's death altered the entire course of my life. He had been my idol, my hero. I'll never forget the way he would wrestle with me, joke with me, and play games with me. Since he was ten years older than I, he was like my second father." He clenched his jaw, finding the words increasingly difficult. "And they killed him."

Miri patted his arm, and the shadows had gathered in her eyes again. "I can tell you were fond of him just by listening to you speak of him. I can't imagine how hard it was."

"It was hell," Tai whispered. "I saw him be executed."

The druid gasped and stopped in her tracks; her wolf sensed her horror and glanced back at her as though it was making sure she was all right. "You saw it? That's horrible! Were you forced to watch?"

Tai halted as well. "No." He snorted, disgusted by the memory of his own stupidity. "I was ordered by my parents to stay home. My great-grandmother stayed with me, but she had a habit of dosing off. I slipped away from her and ran to the village square. I'll never forget, as long as I live, the unspeakable horror of knowing my brother was doomed but being unable to stop it."

Miri grimaced and began walking again, apparently to keep Darvin from catching up and overhearing the painful conversation.

"Despite the fact I was six, I had a basic understanding of what death means," Tai continued, reliving the day in his mind, "but no one really understands that level of loss until it happens to them—regardless of their age. He was hanged for his supposed crime, and I screamed and cried as they kicked the stool out from under is feet. He wasn't lucky—his neck didn't break. So he was choked to death, instead. The memory of his pain and suffering, the changing color of his face . . ." His throat constricted with both anger and grief, and he couldn't continue.

"I'm so sorry," Miri said. She grasped her spear in her hand once more and gripped it tightly, causing her knuckles to whiten.

Seeing her anger on his behalf enabled Tai to resume speaking. "My rage could not be abated. No matter how my parents, sister, and remaining brother tried to help me—or at least grieve with me—I couldn't entirely shake the bitterness. And that's why I was sent to live with my uncle Kassur."

The druid nodded. "You don't seem bitter now. In fact, you seem very wise."

Tai shoved the grief back down into his soul and tried to smile at her. "Thank you. I worked very hard. And I've dedicated the rest of my life to seeing that real justice is done, and injustice is set aright."

Miri returned his smile. "I think you're a wonderful priest. You're also the only follower of Hoar I've ever met other than Darvin!" Her brow furrowed briefly. "Although the way you speak of justice and retribution is far different from the way he speaks. And the consistency of your communing! It seems that you pray every night."

Tai blinked at her. "Of course! How can you know your god if you don't speak with him? How can you hope to channel his divine power or know his will? It would be like trying to build a friendship with someone you never talk to!"

Miri laughed. "I guess you're right. I'd never thought of it that way."

But Tai didn't laugh with her. Something about Darvin unsettled him, and the feeling wasn't helped by Miri's observation. He was distracted from his thoughts, however, when Stormrider suddenly halted in front of them, hunched down, and growled.

"Zhents?" Miri whispered, leveling her short spear.

Tai glanced back at Darvin and saw him holding up his javelin with one hand and in the other hand clutching his necklace, which was the holy symbol of Hoar—a gloved hand holding a coin. "Either Zhents or an equally dangerous monster." Tai couldn't help thinking about the dire wolves that he and his friends had faced several months before, and he immediately prayed to Hoar for blessings upon himself and his allies.

Without warning, an arrow whizzed past Tai's ear, and he jerked to the side. Stormrider charged the tree-line, fangs bared, and Miri seemed to be reaching deep within herself to cast a spell. Tai drew his magical stiletto dagger, which carried a vorpal enchantment, and prepared himself to strike out at his enemies with divine power.

The first Zhent solider, clad in black armor, burst from the underbrush and swung his sword at Darvin, who blocked the strike with his javelin. However, the javelin had never been meant for melee and was a distance weapon, so it bowed under the pressure of the sword.

"Exactly why I don't carry Hoar's favored weapon," Tai muttered to himself, but then he yelled out in fear as the Zhent solider disengaged and struck again, snapping the javelin in half. Darvin had already angled the javelin to the side, so he missed being sliced in the neck. However, Tai saw the sword make contact with the other priest's arm.

Tai started to run for Darvin, but then realized he'd be leaving Miri alone to face her abductors. Miri, though, had completed her spell; she lifted her hand toward the sky, and burning chunks of brimstone hailed down upon the Zhent soldiers as they emerged. Tai counted a dozen men and women, but right before his eyes, three were killed by the flames. The others managed to dodge and continued their assault.

Tai reached deeply into his own soul and called forth Hoar's power, striking blind the man who charged him. The soldier screamed and dropped his battle axe, and Tai lunged forward, simultaneously slashing open the man's neck and electrocuting him with his enchanted blade.

Miri's wolf stood before her and snarled at two soldiers who tried to reach her as she cast her second spell. Tai frowned as Miri's face seemed to flatten and her shoulders hunched forward. She opened her mouth and growled, and her canines extended into fangs. Golden fur and black spots covered her face and arms, and then suddenly she was a leopard.

Tai blinked, but her attackers screamed as both the leopard and the wolf attacked them. Tai had no further time to consider the particular talents of a druid, however, since two men were closing in on his position. Quickly invoking Hoar's power, Tai said, "_Enith._" A dimensional door opened, teleporting him ten feet behind his enemies—both the two who had been charging him and one other. Tai crept forward, backstabbing the first man. The first two were now headed toward Darvin, so Tai silently sneaked up behind them and drove a dagger into each of their backs.

Darvin had fallen to the ground and was defending against his attacker by holding the end of the man's spear. Tai suspected that he'd raised a divine shield, but sure that Darvin was in mortal danger, he charged the soldier and buried his dagger into the man's spine, directly below his skull. The soldier died instantly, his corpse falling to the ground with a thud.

Not waiting to check Darvin's condition, Tai ran back toward Miri, only to find four mangled corpses littered around the leopard and the wolf.

"Never mind," Tai murmured. He glanced about the trees, checking for further signs of attack, and finding none, relaxed.

Meanwhile, the leopard stretched luxuriously, then transformed back into a half elf maiden. A naked maiden, in fact, with long, graceful legs, rounded hips, and—

Tai clasped his hands over his eyes and spun away. His face and ears burned with such embarrassment that he thought he might catch fire. A spike of electricity seemed to jab his stomach, and he realized that in no uncertain terms he was severely attracted to Miri Brightwood, her sunny personality, and . . . her gorgeous body. "Oh, no," he groaned.

"Took you long enough to look away," snapped an irritated male voice.

Tai lowered his hands and stared down at the bleeding priest. "It wasn't my intention to grope her with my eyes."

Darvin glared at him, and Tai glared back, insulted by his implication. Still, this was no time to begin an argument, so Tai pointed to the wounds on Darvin's arms and legs. "Would you like me to heal you?"

Darvin sighed. "Yeah. Go ahead."

_Don't sound so grateful,_ Tai thought, but he simply leaned down and held his hands over Darvin. It seemed he could do no right by his fellow priest.

* * *

Miri sat on the fallen log and patted Tai's knee, but he was still embarrassed enough over seeing her naked that he kept his gaze on their campfire. 

"Thank you for healing Darvin," she said, resting her hand on his leg. "And for loaning him one of your daggers. It was incredibly kind of you."

Tai glanced at her hand and smiled, feeling a blush spread on his cheeks. "It was nothing, Miri-_sen._ I'm just glad he wasn't killed when the javelin broke."

"You really do have a heart for people, don't you?" she asked, wonder in her voice.

Tai met her gaze. "I suppose so. Why is that so surprising?"

She smiled at him, and he became hyperaware of the fact she hadn't removed her hand. "Because it's a rare quality."

Tai glanced back at the fire. "Well, fortunately the world isn't filled with only murderers, rapists, and child-abusers. Some of us strive to do good."

"And punish evil," Darvin said as he entered their camp. He glared at Miri's hand, and she removed it quickly. "Such as killing said murders and rapists and flogging child-abusers."

Miri shuddered, but Darvin ignored her reaction and handed her some of the berries he'd foraged.

"Flogging?" Tai asked, weighing the possible poetic nature of the justice.

"Well of course you must flog him," Darvin snapped, looking at Tai as though he'd grown six extra arms. "It says so in the Assurian Codex. Don't you remember? I quote, 'All parents who beat their children must be flogged ten times for each year of the child's age'—book 4, paragraph 16."

Assurian Codex? Book 4? Paragraph 16? Tai furrowed his brow, confused. "I don't have a copy of the Assurian Codex."

Darvin stared at Tai as though he had just confessed to secretly being a Bane worshipper. "You don't have a copy? And you're an initiated priest?"

Tai blinked. "I wasn't even aware there was an Assurian Codex. My uncle and I were the only two followers I knew of for a long time."

A long pause ensued in which Darwin's eyes became almost comically wide. "So you haven't even _read_ the Assurian Codex?" The condescension in his voice could have been distilled into acid. "How have you carried out proper poetic vengeance without knowing The Codes?"

"_Darvin,_" Miri said, glaring at him.

Tai felt a faint flush in his cheeks. He'd never questioned himself as a priest. The closest he'd ever come to doubting himself had been during the days and weeks after the rape, but even then, his questions had little to do with his competence as a priest. Yet suddenly this young man, who was only a year older than himself, seemed infinitely older, wiser, and learned than he. "I relied on communing with Hoar," he replied, uncomfortable.

Darvin seemed to consider that. "Well, I suppose that could have gotten you through until now. But if you ever want to grow in your priesthood, you need to have a copy of the Codex." He nodded sagely. "Best if you copy them all by hand, but if necessary, I suppose you could hire a scribe to do it." He raised an eyebrow at Tai. "You _can_ write, correct?"

Tai's jaw clenched. "Of course."

"Don't be so insulting!" Miri exclaimed.

"I was simply asking a practical question."

Tai willed himself to remain calm. "How long is the Codex?"

"Five books." Darvin shrugged. "It's roughly 500 pages."

Tai struggled not to react. Copy 500 pages by himself?

Darvin smiled, walked over, and patted Tai on the shoulder. "I know it's lengthy and would require a great deal of time and effort, but if you copy it down yourself, you'll memorize it faster."

Tai frowned. "Unnecessary, I assure you. I have an excellent memory."

Darvin shook his head. "Well . . . it's your choice, of course. I'll lend you my copy so you may begin reading." He handed Tai some berries.

Tai stared at the priest and realized that while this man shared his mission, he was definitely not his ally.

* * *

Entreri cut the thin wire which ran across the bottom of the third double door they'd found. The maze had branched several times, but the group had continually turned right, hoping to retrace their steps easier should they reach a dead end. Their course had taken them through two tricky doors and rooms, however, in addition to the endless traps in the hallways. 

Shooing Jarlaxle and Nyx back, Entreri retrieved a small block of wood from his utility pack and held it in front of him as he pushed the doors open. Two darts flew from the newly exposed lintel, lodging themselves in the wood.

"Poisoned to be sure," the assassin said. He yanked the darts free and tucked the wood away again.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you're such a well-trained thief," Nyx said.

Entreri didn't respond. His companions' lives, as well as his own, depended upon his being perfect. Granted, protecting them was part of assuring he'd escape the labyrinth alive, but the burden had an unfamiliar weight to it.

The assassin remembered the early morning hours before they had followed Mordecai into the saurian ruins, when he had admitted to himself that he had come to care for his companions—cared enough to not only tolerate their company but to prefer their continued survival. And, then, like now, he had frowned at the turn of events even as he continued to press forward.

"I did not ask for this," he said, echoing his thoughts from that morning. _I did not wish for this pain._

"Ask for what? Disarming all these traps?" Nyx asked.

"Never mind," Entreri snapped. He could dodge Nyx's questions, but he couldn't as easily ignore the fact his feelings did scare him. He didn't understand why he had them, where they came from, or why he couldn't seem to toss them aside. But the source of his fear was their meaning: caring for someone meant being hurt by their death, taking responsibility for their well-being, and—worst of all in his mind—opening himself to betrayal.

Pain. In short, it was an exercise in pure pain.

Tai's words from months earlier came back to Entreri, however: _"What if friendship gave more to your life than it took away?"_ And in those words the assassin glimpsed part of the reason he couldn't just walk away.

"Does it look clear?" Jarlaxle asked, and Entreri refocused on his job.

The door revealed what looked to be a library, with bookshelves that reached all the way up the twenty-foot high walls. Three large oak desks created an **L** in the middle of the room, with a circle of leather couches surrounding them like a wagon train.

"I'd say it's about as safe as ramming your fist into a bee hive," Entreri said.

Nyx pointed to the far side of the room. "But there is a door out."

Jarlaxle withdrew an ebony wand and aimed it at the room. Nothing happened. "I can't detect any magic at work here."

"Yet," Entreri said. "Follow me, and stick to the sides of the room." He crept along the shelves slowly, his agile fingers tracing and testing the wood and books.

An angry snort interrupted his concentration, followed by a curse from Jarlaxle. The assassin spun around and saw the immediate source of their danger: a six-foot-tall bull stood in the doorway behind them. Long silver horns shone as the creature lowered its head and hoofed the floor; the torchlight reflected off its black metallic scales, tinting them a black-red that matched its glowing eyes. The beast snorted again, expelling a grey-green mist from its nostrils.

"Gorgon," Jarlaxle whispered. "It if breathes on us, we'll be petrified."

Entreri was more focused on the enormous horns. "Run," he ordered Nyx.

She didn't balk. She dashed for the far door, while Jarlaxle covered her escape by pulling out a bluish-silver wand and firing a cone of snow and ice at the charging bull. He and Entreri nearly collided in their scramble to escape the bull as it slid.

However, Nyx's dash across the room had triggered a spell. The books flew from the shelves, pummeling the trio as they raced for the door. The gorgon hit the far wall, only feet from them, and shook its head and snorted. Jarlaxle managed to pull out a green-tinted wand and spray acid at the beast, whose metallic scales sizzled from the contact. The bull bucked wildly, hitting itself against the shelves and crushing a couch.

Dozens of books slammed into Nyx's head and shoulders as she tried to wrench the door open. "It's stuck!" she yelled. She covered her head with her arms, then stepped back and kicked the door with all her might. The wood splinted under the force, and she and the mercenaries pushed through the doorway and stumbled up the stairs beyond. The books followed, hurling themselves corners-first into their victims' backs and legs.

"Just run!" Entreri yelled, more concerned about the gorgon than any future traps. The stairwell was narrow, so he was sure the broad-shouldered bull wouldn't be able to follow if they could just get far enough up the staircase.

Nyx leapt up the stairs three at a time, Entreri close on her heels. Jarlaxle brought up the rear, spraying the doorway with ice for good measure. Flying books zoomed up the spiraling stairs without difficulty, though, striking them before falling to trip them in their rush.

Finally, Nyx reached the doorway at the top of the stairs and, without caution or preamble, slammed it open with her shoulder. Entreri raced out behind her, slid on the marble floor suddenly beneath his feet, and jumped back to grab the door. As soon as Jarlaxle cleared the threshold, the assassin slammed the door shut. The door shook from the impact of hundreds of books thudding against the wood. Nyx and Jarlaxle both lent their weight to the door as well, holding it closed until the onslaught stopped.

Sore and bruised, the trio turned wearily and faced their new room: a massive foyer with towering wooden doors on the right and a **Y**-shaped staircase to the left. The marble stairs arched gracefully to the mid-story landing, only to split and arch the rest of the way to the second floor. And there, leaning against the banister on the landing, stood a six-foot-tall man dressed in leather armor.

"Welcome to Stonar Manor," the man said, smiling. "I trust you enjoyed making your way to the castle proper? There is, after all, nothing more enjoyable than a good maze."

Entreri growled, instantly deciding the Stonars would die slow and torturous deaths.


	3. Images

**Chapter Three**

Jarlaxle smiled up at Lander as he leaned on the top of the stair rail; the man was resplendent in a crimson silk tunic with golden dragons racing across the arms. Studded black leather armor protected his torso, and a broadsword peeked over his shoulder from its sheath on his back. To Jarlaxle, this showed a man of good taste; surely he could get the human to see his vision. "Greetings, Master Stonar."

"You may call me Lander for whatever time you have left." The man straightened, and his long black ponytail bobbed with the movement. "You did well to escape our maze. I trust you've enjoyed the experience?"

Entreri unsheathed his vampiric dagger. "Well enough to show you our gratitude," he said in a voice that promised extended torture before death.

Lander grinned. "Brilliant, isn't it? My great-grandfather began the maze's construction, and my brother and I finished it." He propped one hand on his hip and titled his head. "You may not have appreciated being on the receiving end, but you have to admire the craftsmanship."

Nyx smirked and pulled out her nunchaku. "Does your ego require such stroking that you would beg a compliment from your enemies?"

Lander laughed, apparently genuinely amused, but Jarlaxle held out his hand to calm his bloodthirsty friends.

"And you have to admit," Jarlaxle said, "that your adversaries were clever enough to defeat your traps and find you." He put on his best smile—the one that promised wit and mutual profit. "Perhaps, then, you should reconsider. What benefits could be gained from making your adversaries your allies?"

Entreri and Nyx both stared at him in shock, although the assassin looked less surprised, a fact which pleased Jarlaxle. Entreri was no fool. The drow stepped forward a few steps, holding one hand behind his back.

_This is a fine opportunity,_ he signed to Entreri using drow handcode. _There is no reason why we can't attain a double profit here. Just let me handle this man._

"Hells," Entreri spat, clenching his fist around his dagger, and Jarlaxle worried for a moment that he would blow the chance before he could even act.

"Benefits?" Lander raised an eyebrow. "So you are double-dealing?"

Jarlaxle grinned. "What do you need the half-elven girl for? To release monsters? There are easier ways to attain what you seek. And not only can my allies and I provide those means, we would prove quite an asset to you in future business transactions."

The drow could almost hear Entreri grinding his teeth in anger, and he could only hope the man would see how he could be benefited by this alliance before he lost his temper. Nyx, however, was shifting her weight from foot to foot, swinging her nunchaku, which in Jarlaxle's mind made her the more immediate threat.

Lander fingered his chin and then smiled. "I get a certain thrill from the idea, I must admit. But who can trust a drow?"

"Who can trust a Zhent?" Entreri snarled, finally interrupting the exchange. "Seems to me that the two of you would make a fine couple."

Lander chuckled, and Jarlaxle shot the assassin a warning glance.

"I was going to say that Old Man Brightwood was smarter than I'd given him credit for," Lander said, "but it would seem that your friends do not share in your dream."

"A certain amount of discussion should bring us all four to the same page," Jarlaxle replied, even as he had to mentally chastise himself for underestimating the random variable Entreri could introduce to a situation. He should have revealed more to the assassin as his plan formed; despite his predictability, Entreri had a wild streak born out of his rage and pride that could throw any game. As for Nyx, Jarlaxle was beginning to think he should have sent her with Tai—she was now slapping her nunchaku against the palm of her hand.

"You mean the five of us," said a baritone voice.

Jarlaxle looked up to the second story railing and saw what seemed to be a clone of Lander, except this man wore a navy wizards' robe with a silken pattern that shone in swirls as he moved. A navy ribbon pulled the man's sleek black hair into a ponytail like Lander's, and as Jarlaxle considered the swallow undertones to the man's skin and the slight slant of his eyes, he realized that these two humans had to share ancestry with Tai.

"Allow me to introduce my brother, Melcer" Lander said as his twin descended the left side of the split staircase and joined him on the landing.

"If I'm not mistaken," Jarlaxle murmured, "your ancestors are Mulan. Perhaps from Unther?"

"A sharp eye," Melcer said, smoothing down his robes. He cocked an eyebrow at Jarlaxle, as though summing up his inherent worth.

"On our mother's side," Lander added with a dismissive wave. He reached out and locked arms with Melcer. "Now tell me. Are you serious about forging an alliance with my brother and me?"

"Quite!" Jarlaxle said, but Entreri had stepped up beside him. The man's entire body language radiated anger: his fists were clenched, his shoulders tense, and his jaw set.

Lander slanted a sideways look at Entreri and Nyx. "I'm unsure your partners agree with you. And perhaps you should understand our motives before you offer to be our allies: I intend—or rather, I should say, Melcer and I intend—to subjugate this entire area under our control as a new hub of Zhentarim activity."

"Never," Nyx said, stowing her nunchaku and dropping her hands near her weapons' belt, her fingers seeming to itch for the feel of her shuriken.

"I am the guardian of no people," Entreri said, "but neither do I intend to become the puppets of the Zhentarim."

Jarlaxle sighed at Entreri's lack of vision. Could the man not see the possibilities created by such a powerful alliance? "The deal we are attempting to forge here is not that of a puppet and its master." Didn't the assassin realize that Jarlaxle would be never be anyone's puppet?

Lander licked his lips, and Entreri narrowed his eyes. Jarlaxle could tell his plan was deteriorating.

Melcer leaned into this brother and smirked. "I don't think the drow has proper control of his subjects."

Entreri bristled like a pit bull preparing to attack.

Lander pursed his mouth into a half-smile, which he directed at Melcer. "Now, brother . . ."

Nyx stepped forward and yanked on the edge of Jarlaxle's rainbow-colored cape. "Give it up. These guys want nothing other than destruction. You can't be partners with them—unless, of course, you want to be responsible for the deaths of thousands of men, women, and children?"

Entreri had his gaze locked on the Stonar twins, but he hadn't pounced yet. Jarlaxle decided he could chance looking at Nyx.

Her brown eyes glinted. "Or is gold Jarlaxle's god?" Her hand hovered near her nunchaku once again. "Would you be willing to indirectly kill an entire city's worth of innocent people in order to gain more power and wealth?"

Jarlaxle never killed anyone unless he absolutely had to—that tenet was the one the Crystal Shard had violated at Dallabad Oasis. At the moment, however, he wasn't sure he could convince Nyx of that. "I merely search for opportunities to prosper myself—not opportunities to shed blood. I will kill, but not unnecessarily and not ever for pleasure." He nodded toward Entreri. "If you want to fear someone, it should be him. He needs little incentive to kill."

Nyx frowned, but Lander laughed and unlocked his arm with his brother's.

"In that case," Lander said, unsheathing his broadsword, "I would like to fight your assassin." He winked at Nyx. "I would also like to treat the lady to dinner." His gaze became pointed as he looked down at Jarlaxle. "You, however, have disappointed me. I expected something more interesting from a drow transversing the Surface, but you are simply a typical mercenary leader."

Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes. The human had turned out to be far too arrogant to reason with, and given their current predicament, the drow couldn't twist that pride to his advantage.

Without looking over his shoulder, Lander said, "Melcer! Send them back to the maze for a little more fun."

The wizard backed away several steps and fell into spellcasting.

Entreri unsheathed Black Widow and approached the stairs, apparently plotting on how to force Lander to give up the high ground. Nyx stepped up beside Jarlaxle, pulled out her shuriken, and sent them flying at Melcer, no doubt to break his concentration, but Lander swatted them out of the air with his blade.

"You are a beautiful woman warrior I would like to court," Lander said, narrowing his eyes, "but I will surely kill you if you harm my brother."

"Don't worry." Nyx yanked her kukri from their thigh sheathes. "I'd make sure you joined your brother in death immediately."

To Jarlaxle, Lander's feral grin seemed to indicate he appreciated Nyx's attitude, but the drow didn't have a chance to ponder the human's quirks. His plan had been blown and the battle begun. With a sigh at the failure, he withdrew the silver wand which would unleash a cone of ice and snow and fired it up the staircase at Melcer.

"Melcer!" Lander yelled, jumping the stair railing. Entreri immediately dashed after him.

The wizard vaulted to the side, barely avoiding becoming an ice sculpture. Jarlaxle aimed again, but Melcer had pulled something from his robe's pocket. Speaking a command word, he pointed his finger in Jarlaxle's direction. A red-glowing, pea-sized bead burst from his finger, igniting a fire ball with a low roar.

Without a second thought, Jarlaxle tackled Nyx and shielded her as the flame descended upon them.

---

Entreri had charged Lander as soon as he'd jumped to the ground floor. Not giving him time to regroup, the assassin slashed at the man's knee, aiming for his tendons. Lander jerked his sword into a parry at the last instant, and then pushed his forearm against the flat of the blade, lunging forward and forcing Entreri back. The assassin leapt backward and crossed his blades in a defensive stance; the spidery etchings upon the greenish-silver blade seemed to flash up and down the blade, as though they were reacting to his desire to fight. Even the garnets in the crosspiece glowed.

"Your sword seems in tune with you," Lander said, holding his broadsword before him. "It's humming with your battle spirit."

Entreri watched the grinning man with suspicion, wondering why he seemed to treat their fight as a game. "So what if it does?" He feinted to the right, testing the man's reflexes.

Lander reacted instantly, meeting the feint without leaving himself open to attack. "That means you are a honed warrior—nothing less, but certainly nothing more."

Entreri wasn't sure he could disagree, but he was unimpressed nevertheless. "And you are something more, I assume."

"The best," Lander replied, drawing his sword back and charging Entreri head on. "And the future leader of the Zhentarim!"

Entreri dodged the strike and blocked the follow-through as Lander shifted momentum and swung his sword toward his ribs. "Conquest eternal," he intoned with utter boredom, deciding to throw Lander's insult to Jarlaxle back in his face. "Could you not be more original?"

Lander smirked and brought his sword around and then down in an overhead strike.

_Overconfident,_ Entreri thought, capitalizing on the moment. Flipping his dagger into a reverse grip, he used it to shield his arm and up-blocked to deflect the blade. The impact jarred his entire body, but he was prepared for it and didn't slow. Using the split second opening, Entreri cleaved Black Widow into Lander's side, driving the enchanted blade through both flesh and bone.

Lander yelled, but before Entreri could finish him, a swarm of angry butterflies assaulted his stomach. A wave of nausea washed over him as the room spun around him and then snapped back to normal—revealing a new location.

Beside him, Jarlaxle and Nyx were holding their stomachs and gasping.

"Welcome back to the maze," Jarlaxle said.

* * *

Miri had taken the midnight watch while Tai and Darvin both communed with Hoar. Now she was peacefully asleep, the campfire creating red highlights in her platinum blonde hair, and Tai was trying not to stare at her. She had put her hand on his knee! She had flirted with him! Tai grinned to himself. 

However, the grin left his face when he glanced over at Darvin, who was settling down to sleep as well. Obviously the half elf had feelings for her, and equally obviously she only saw him as a friend. Tai knew what that portended. Perhaps he should hide his own feelings in order to maintain peace?

Tai seemed to hear Nyx's voice in his mind: _You couldn't hide your feelings if you tried._ He sighed, knowing Nyx's imagined assessment was true. _And why should I?_ Tai thought, suddenly irritated. _We are attracted to each other, and I'm hardly ever around girls my own age!_

Darvin had rolled over and faced away from Tai, who had this watch. With a sigh of relief, Tai picked up Darvin's copy of the Asssurian Codex and eyed it with distaste, feeling irrationally angry at it for existing and for not revealing itself sooner. Shaking away his irritation, the priest opened the first book and skimmed through it, finding a record of revelations concerning Hoar's history, relationship with other deities, and the founding of his loose-knit church. Most of this information Tai already knew, but the book promised a fascinating read. He set it aside and picked up the second book, which contained copies of letters and stories about priests and followers and the acts of poetic justice they carried out. Tai nodded to himself, deciding that book would prove both interesting and informative. Perhaps the stories could give Tai ideas or provide guidance during particularly difficult decisions.

The third book also proved compelling because it recorded songs and poems of praise and celebration which Tai knew he could put to good use. The fourth book, however, was the one Tai was most keen to see, given that Darvin had quoted it. Tai flipped through the well-worn pages, scanning the neat, blockish handwriting and finding a list of guidelines and rules for how to carry out vengeance: Don't pursue evil for evil's sake. Evil will come to evil, and good will come to good. The punishments must fit the crimes. No injustice is too small to be avenged.

All this Tai already knew, but he found specific examples in the guidelines—The Code—that he realized one could use as a yardstick, like flogging an abusive parent ten times per years of the child's life. Tai didn't interpret the rule as absolute, more as a suggestion for what would be appropriate. After all, Hoar was concerned with the spirit of the law, and not the letter. The latter part of The Code seemed equally helpful, explaining communing, praising, and the Hoarites' two official holidays, Penultimate Thunder and Impending Doom.

But it was the last book that stole Tai's breath and left him staring. Book Five was a record of prophecies made by Hoarites. The entire forest seemed to recede from existence as Tai poured over the predictions, learning of an upsurge in the religion "ten score hundred years" after the infamous Time of Troubles. The Time of Troubles themselves had been predicted some three hundred years prior to their occurrence, complete with a prediction that Hoar would slay his rival Ramman, with whom he'd fought over the allegiance of Unther, and that Anhur, the Mulhorandi deity of war, would steal Hoar's victory out from under him. There was even a prophecy that Tyr and Shar would battle over Hoar's tortured soul, with Tyr winning! Stunned, Tai read the outcome quickly, worried for what that would mean, but he relaxed when the prophecy stated that Hoar would simply become more bittersweet in his humor, encouraging his followers to be more ironic and poetic in their justice. To Tai, that prophecy was encouraging, especially given how incredibly enraged Hoar could be over the injustices of the world. Some nights, communing felt like a hot spring bath for the soul.

But as Tai began to set aside the book of prophecies, promising himself a closer read later, a word seemed to jump off the page at him. He looked again, trying to determine what he'd seen. "The Chosen of Hoar," it read, and Tai snatched the book closer, reading quickly.

"'The Chosen of Hoar are sent during the darkest hour of each generation,'" Tai read aloud in a whisper, "'reviving the faith and ridding the world of those heretics who commit evil and injustice in Hoar's name. Greatly blessed by Hoar for their purity of intent and heart, The Chosen represent Hoar's ironic and poetic nature, which will smooth the road for the future alliance between Hoar and Tyr. The Chosen are fated to always be accompanied by two Holy Javelins, who will assist the Chosen in spreading the message and vengeance of Hoar throughout the world. However, each Chosen is destined to face an AntiChosen, and many other such heretics as well, all of whom will seek the Chosen's life. If the Javelins are not diligent, the Chosen's life will be lost, and that generation also.'"

Tai set down the book, intrigued. The Chosen of Hoar. Was he fated to be one of those Javelins? Would he play a role in assisting and protecting the Chosen of his generation? If only he could be selected for such a blessed role! Hoar had indicated he had a significant mission to fulfill. Dare he be arrogant enough to wish to stand by the Chosen's side?

Tai sighed, a small smile upon his face. Hoar would decide, of course.

* * *

The room was simple: a black and white checkered floor, wooden panel walls, and an open rafter ceiling. It could have been a room anywhere, but it wasn't—it was part of the Stonar castle maze. 

"Melcer managed to finish his spell," was all Nyx would say as she patted down the burnt ends of her hair.

Entreri checked her over for injuries, and surprisingly, she allowed him to do so.

"Although I promise I'm fine," she mumbled as the assassin looked over her arms.

"My fire ring shielded us both," Jarlaxle said.

"Fortunately for her," Entreri replied.

"But overall, we seem to be in trouble," Jarlaxle continued dryly. "We might run into another gorgon, or perhaps one of the dragons or chimera pictured in that that mural."

Entreri whirled on him, anger radiating from every inch of his body. "Of course we're in trouble! I could have told you this wouldn't work. The Zhentarim are a massive network that include a vast army and countless wizards—"

"Yes, I know," the drow interrupted with a smile.

Entreri stalked forward, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him. "They're also led by a powerful priest—a man more powerful than you."

"That's why I do not work alone," Jarlaxle said calmly, dropping a dagger from his bracer into one of his hands in case Entreri attacked.

The assassin's grip on his arms tightened ruthlessly. "You are not listening! Rumors hold that this leader, Fzoul Chembryl, is the Chosen Tyrant of Bane. The entire organization is tied to the Church of Bane! And the Zhentarim's methods are somewhat at odds with your own."

"No one said I wished to join them," Jarlaxle pointed out. "I was planning—"

"Planning to get us all killed with your greed?" Entreri pushed the drow back into the wall. "You made a significant decision involving me without discussing it with me, even though we are supposed to be _partners_."

"Not to mention that you hid your intentions under the guise of saving Miri," Nyx said, drawing out her nunchaku.

Jarlaxle glanced at the enraged monk. "I would have saved Miri in the process. Did you not hear me offer the Stonars a different means of accomplishing their goal? I would have removed the danger to the girl and gained control over the Stonars and their plans. No harm would have—"

"Like you have control over me?" Entreri asked, his eyes glittering with killing intent. "We've discussed this before—too many times."

"Our partnership has always been a joint—" Jarlaxle began.

Entreri interrupted again. "You have never given me more information than you feel is absolutely necessary at a given moment, but up until this fiasco, I hadn't cared enough to press you on the matter." He pressed the drow's shoulders a bit harder into the wall. "You are always implying I don't dream enough, and I won't challenge your judgment on that. But did it ever occur to you that you dream too much? If you reach for the stars and grasp them, your feet no longer touch the ground. You chose me for a partner; did it ever occur to you that you might be served by the fact my feet _are_ always on the ground?"

"Indeed?" Jarlaxle was amused by Entreri's claims, yet curious at the same time.

"You need me," the assassin stated irrevocably. "You need me to ground you. But just as I have refused to accept what you believe you are—" He sighed. "—I mean, what you _are_ offering me, you refuse to see what I am offering you."

Jarlaxle was stunned into speechlessness by the man's honest admission.

"What did you think?" Entreri continued, sounding tired now. "That you would weasel your way into the Zhentarim and eventually take control? Make their leader your puppet through a few well-placed assassinations? Maybe then make a few changes to make the organization suit you? It sounds like the high-flown plan of a male drow who dared to build his own House of rogues." He sighed again, and the sound seemed to echo an emptiness in the man's chest. "Your greed will destroy us all. Or perhaps not—I'm sure you have an escape plan for yourself." And suddenly the assassin's face grew hard, his eyes glinting, and he released the drow's shoulders. "Yes, of course you would."

"I assure you, I have no intention of getting any of us killed," Jarlaxle said, hiding his dagger in his cloak but still prepared to defend himself.

But Entreri continued as though the elf hadn't spoken. "Congratulations ," he said in a voice harsh with bitterness, "you've succeeded. You've set Nyx and me up to die here, but you'll find a way to save yourself. You'll be able to pursue your dreams freely without my dour interruptions." He turned on his heel and stalked away, his black cloak flying out behind him. Nyx glared at Jarlaxle, then followed Entreri out.

* * *

Melcer sat at the bottom of the cold marble steps holding his brother in his arms. The wizard had used a spell to block the poisonous effect of Entreri's sword, but the wound was ghastly. The assassin had cut a hole in Lander's side, slicing through muscle and bone and piercing a lung. "Don't die!" he whispered. "I sent the servants to get the healing potions." 

Lander cracked one eye open and smiled; blood coated his teeth. "You shouldn't hold me," he gasped. "I'm ruining your expensive wizard's robe."

Tears collected in Melcer's eyes at his brother's attempt to cheer him up. "The robe is replaceable; you are not."

Lander lifted one arm and grasped his brother's hand, squeezing it. "I'm not going to die."

Melcer wasn't so sure. If they didn't heal him quickly, he would drown in his own blood, provided he didn't bleed out first.

Riff, one of the male servants, bolted out of the nearest hallway and gave two bottles of healing potion to Melcer. "Sonna is bringing the rest," he said.

"Thank you." Melcer accepted the first bottle and carefully put it to his brother's lips. He'd never paid much attention to the servants except to ensure they did their jobs properly, but at this moment he was profoundly grateful for their quick response to the sound of fighting. "Remind me to give you both a raise."

Riff bowed. "Yes, sir."

Lander had gulped down the first potion and was now breathing heavily. He cringed in pain. "Blast . . . it stings."

Melcer watched with concern as the massive rip in his brother's side began to knit together. The bones began to fuse first, the two severed sides reaching for each other like a closing drawbridge.

"Give me the other," Melcer said, and Riff handed him the second potion. He was still coaxing the fluid down his brother's throat when Sonna arrived with three more bottles, which she set by Melcer.

Lander turned his head away from the second bottle. "Wait. I feel nauseated."

Melcer obeyed, but he watched with concern as muscles began to grow over the exposed bone. Was the wound healing fast enough?

"Yes," Lander answered, as though he'd heard the thought.

Melcer smiled and brushed his brother's slick black hair out of his face. "Don't abuse our link," he teased.

Lander snorted faintly, and Melcer realized that the color was returning to his face.

"Can you drink the rest?" the wizard asked, and when Lander nodded, he fed him the rest of the second bottle as well as a third one.

After several minutes, Lander shifted in his arms and looked up at him, obviously ready to issue orders. Skin was now growing over the raw muscle, and Melcer was able to relax and listen to whatever his brother was going to say.

"I want you to go retrieve the sacrifice yourself," Lander said, still breathless. "They slipped past our first wave of soldiers and slaughtered the second. I doubt the final set of men will have better luck. I think it's time you put them in their places."

Melcer frowned, then nodded. "Very well. I'll prepare my spells and gather a few guards as reinforcements."

Lander smiled. "If you want something done right—"

"—do it yourself," Melcer finished. However, sitting there with his wounded brother in his arms, the wizard had to wonder if power and wealth were worth the price they might have to pay.

* * *

Tai awakened to chirping birds and a furious argument. He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and stared up at Miri and Darvin, who were faced off on the far side of the dead campfire. 

"I don't know what your issue is!" Miri yelled, clenching her fists. The sun, which filtered through the forest canopy, lit up the crown of her head like a halo, and Tai decided she was beautiful even when angry. "Quit treating me like a child! Just because I'm a woman, it doesn't mean I can't defend myself or fight!"

"I know that," Darvin snapped. "It's just that you're in a lot of danger here, and I'd prefer if you stayed out of the way during a confrontation."

"Did you see me turn into a leopard and rip my enemies limb from limb?" Miri asked. Her wolf joined her and growled at Darvin.

Tai decided the other priest better say yes, or he was running a risk of getting torn apart himself.

"A little," Darvin replied. "I'm not playing down your abilities, I promise, I just—"

"You've always done this," Miri interrupted. "Ever since we were kids. You've always treated me like the one year between our ages is actually ten or twenty. You've never really acknowledged my power. In fact, you're always telling me things I already know like I wasn't schooled with you."

Tai stood up and stretched, deciding he'd be wise to stay out of their conversation. No such luck though.

Miri gestured toward Tai. "At least he treats me like an equal."

Tai winced. He felt Darvin's glare of hate even before the priest turned it toward him.

Darvin stared him down even as he spoke to Miri. "Tai barely knows you."

"That doesn't change the fact he treats me with respect," Miri replied.

"Maybe we shouldn't argue right now," Tai ventured, "since we're—"

Tai's statement was interrupted as a crossbolt whizzed past his face, causing him to jump. "—Under attack!"

Darvin immediately began accessing Hoar's power, and Miri held up her hands, curling her fingers and whispering an incantation. The vines hanging on the trees snaked down and grabbed the first Zhent soldier who burst from the trees, hanging him. Her wolf took a defensive stance.

Reaching inside himself and touching the thread that connected his soul with Hoar, Tai called forth a wave of fear that he directed at the second soldier. The man froze up, and Tai threw one of his remaining non-enchanted dagger end-over-end into the man's throat. When the soldier fell, Tai felt suddenly grateful for all the melee lessons Entreri had given him.

Darvin intercepted the third soldier, blocking the man's sword thrust with his borrowed dagger and using his palm to shove the man's chin upward. The moment Darvin touched the man's skin, it erupted into gashes, ripping up his entire face through the power of Hoar.

Sensing danger from behind him, Tai spun around. The soldier with the crossbow was aiming toward him again, and Tai dived into a forward roll when he fired. The crossbolt harmlessly lodged in a tree. As soon as Tai regained his feet, he lunged toward the Zhent, knocking the crossbow from his hand and then stabbing the man with his vorpal dagger, electrocuting him. Spikes of lightning shot out of the man's head and shoulders, and when Tai withdrew the dagger, the Zhent collapsed dead.

Miri summoned a ball of fire into her palm and directed it toward her last attacker, immolating him. The blackened corpse stood upright for a moment, then fell to the ground, a mound of ash and carbonized flesh. Breathing deeply, the druid looked around. As suddenly as the fight had begun, it was over. The trio stood together, back-to-back in a triangle, and stared at their surroundings.

"That was so easy, it's almost creepy," Miri whispered, leveling her spear as though she expected further attack.

"I don't like it," Darvin said. He still held Tai's dagger out before him.

Tai had to agree. "I fear what they'll send against us next after their resounding defeats. We should prepare ourselves for some extreme measures." _After all,_ Tai thought, _madmen who want a blood sacrifice aren't the type to give up easily._

* * *

_A/N: Chapter 4 is complete and is with my beta readers. I'm working on the final half of Chapter 5 now. _


	4. Reflections

_A/N: Sorry. My betareaders have been ill, and I've been on vacation. But I'm back with a new chapter and a whole new story._

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Jarlaxle watched as Entreri stormed out of the room, Nyx following close behind. Humans could be so exasperating, and yet the drow did understand why Entreri was angry.

_You betrayed me._

The assassin hadn't said it, but he might as well have. Jarlaxle frowned, caught somewhere between his impulses for profit and survival and his growing feelings of friendship for Entreri, the man who had always fascinated him and who had chosen to save him from his treacherous lieutenants and the Crystal Shard. Jarlaxle admired the man's intelligence and poise as well as his rigor of self-discipline and self-denial that drow society completely lacked.

Jarlaxle sighed profoundly. Entreri underestimated what the drow was capable of, what he could achieve even in the face of the Stonars' resistance. Yet at the same time, he knew he had to apologize and take Entreri's rebuffs seriously, unless he wanted to end up in a life or death battle with the man.

"I compromise more for you than any other I've ever met," Jarlaxle murmured to himself as he started after the humans. "Why do I alter who I am to retain your company?" He found it perplexing at best, but he couldn't deny that Entreri's anger concerned him. He had to find the man and vindicate himself—to explain that betrayal had not been his intention. Yet when he reached the hallway and looked up and down it, he saw no sign of his companions.

"A magical trap," he reasoned, examining the crimson tile floor, the walls with the endless mural depicting dragons, gorgons, and chimera, and the arched ceiling which created an upside-down **V**. Should he turn right or left? He hadn't paid enough attention to Entreri's retreat to remember. "Artemis?" he yelled. His voice echoed down the hallway, but there was no answer. Jarlaxle exhaled heavily, unsurprised. If his calls weren't being defeated by magic, then Artemis was being incredibly stubborn as usual.

Left, then. Jarlaxle walked to the end of the hallway and carefully entered the next room, searching for traps as he did. The room promised trouble, Jarlaxle decided, so he stayed near the doorway and glanced around.

The torch-lit room seemed to expand beyond him. The arching ceiling sparkled with thousands of crystals which shone mauve, lavender, and blue, while the white marble floor reflected the crystals. All four towering walls were made purely of mirrors. Jarlaxle narrowed his free eye, trying to determine what the catch was. Another doorway presented itself on the far side of the room, but the place simply screamed "trap."

Tiny goosebumps raced across Jarlaxle's skin like a thousand ants, and he stepped backward, certain he was in mortal danger. The doorway, however, had vanished, and all he achieved was bumping into the mirrored wall. Jarlaxle spun to face the mirror, and when he did, the room spun with him, spiraling around him like a whirlpool. It shrank as it swirled, closing in upon him and then snapping itself straight. The drow felt nauseated, but he shook it off when he realized the room had shrunken to a four-foot by four-foot space. Four mirrors surrounded him, each one illuminated by either the mauve crystals or the lavender ones. The pale blue crystals had stopped glowing.

His reflection in the mirrors began to change shape, first in the mirrors to his sides, which shone with mauve light. He glanced right and saw not his face but rather a memory: his mother and siblings hovering over him and smiling at his newborn cries as he lay on an altar. Purple fairie fire lit the corners of the room, but the altar was shrouded in darkness, causing his family's eyes to glow like red pinpricks in the dark. His mother, still covered in sweat from birthing him, approached the altar and raised her spider-shaped dagger and drove it at his chest. He screamed all the louder, but the dagger failed to kill him. His skin had reflected the blow, and his mother panicked, thinking her sacrifice was being rejected. Shrieking, she stabbed him over and over, not realizing that her mortal enemy was using telekinesis to shield her sacrifice and scare her. The infant before her shrieked, waving his tiny fists helplessly, terrified by his mother's violence and by the thuds being rained upon his chest.

Jarlaxle growled, disgusted by their treachery and the rite itself. Bands like iron spider threads wrapped around his lungs, constricting his breath and his heart alike. Seeing his mother trying to kill him hurt and angered him despite his life-long attempts to brush it away as the Drow Way. Lolth had spent too long torturing him with the memory he otherwise would not have remembered.

Jarlaxle pressed his hands against his temples, trying to push away the image, then glanced sharply to his left only to be confronted with another memory: the scene before him now was himself as a six-year-old child. His wean mother had her arm raised high, her writhing snake-whip hissing in her grasp, and before Jarlaxle could close his eyes, he saw her bring the whip down on his exposed back. Blood flew across the obsidian floor. Jarlaxle squeezed his eyes shut then, not wanting to watch what he knew would happen. Because of another child's lies and betrayal, he would be beaten skinless by her rage-fueled whip, the white of his ribs exposed to the air.

However, even though he could close his eyes, Jarlaxle couldn't escape the sounds:

"How dare you disobey me!" The priestess's yells echoed in the obsidian chamber, bouncing off the ceiling to pound into his head over and over.

The sound of leather ripping through flesh accompanied another scream.

"You're worthless! Meaningless! You exist merely to be canon fodder, to die in service to us."

The words seemed to hammer through Jarlaxle's brain. He shook his head, trying to force the memory away, but the screams and sobs only intensified, underscoring how small, helpless, and powerless he'd been then—and never wanted to be again. He even felt the burning strikes against his back, felt the hot tears on his cheeks, felt the stinging rawness of his throat from his screaming.

Realizing he would have to look into another mirror in order to stop the image, Jarlaxle faced straight forward and opened his eyes. The momentary silence was a relief, but an image began forming as the new mirror shone with lavender light. When the picture formed, Jarlaxle decided he was seeing the future. He barely recognized himself: he looked to be nearly 1000 years old, his skin wrinkled and hanging from his bones. He was sitting alone in the dust of Calimport, surrounded by hovels and horse dung, and he wore only a loincloth. He was so starved that his ribcage and joints protruded from his body and his cheeks had sunken into his face. A gilded carriage passed him by, and he lifted a shaking arm toward it. Curses flew from the window, leaving the starving elf to drop his arm and shake with dry tears.

Jarlaxle could feel the sand biting into his bare skin and feel its scorching heat burning him. He could hear the flies that buzzed over the horse manure that stung his nose. He could feel the pain in his stomach, the humiliation tingling in his cheeks, and the dry coughing of his sobs.

Bile rose in Jarlaxle's throat, and the tang of acid burnt the back of his tongue and his sinuses. Twirling away, he closed his eyes again, not wanting to see what the final mirror showed him. What was this? His future? A possible future? A prediction that he would return to his previous state, just like he was as a child—helpless and powerless, hated and abused? He'd rather take his own life than live such an existence.

Behind him, he heard an aged, croaking version of his own voice begging for scraps of food. The sound wouldn't leave unless he opened his eyes again, he realized, but he feared what the final mirror would reveal.

_It's just a torture device,_ he reasoned to himself. _None of it is real. You would never allow yourself to sink so low._ Girded by this reassurance, he opened his eyes and gazed upon the final, lavender-tinted mirror. Once again, he was met with the image of an ancient, shriveled version of himself. This Jarlaxle, however, was sitting on the throne of House Baenre, wearing a set of priests' robes that were ridiculously large for him. He was holding two handfuls of gems—rubies, sapphires, bloodstones, and diamonds—and he cackled insanely. The most disturbing part, however, was not the insanity, nor the absurdness of the scenario itself, but the words that his mirror self spoke next.

"Mad spider am I!" he was babbling in drow. "Gems pretty and dark! Life in water lovely. Lolth slave is me, pretty and spider! Gems mad is lovely me."

"Hells!" Jarlaxle gasped, nausea constricting his stomach. He was both insane and hideously ugly, his skin hanging off his face to create floppy jowls and his inner ears sprouting white hairs. He looked like a dried up husk—like an undead mummy alone in his tomb. The mere thought that the Spider Bitch would control and warp him sickened him; the idea that he would grow ugly and isolated terrified him. To be left alone in his madness, unable to reach out of his twisted mind and make contact with another living creature, was a fate worse than death. To be unable to speak or move freely, unable to make decisions and control his own fate . . .

Jarlaxle turned away again, only to find the other three mirrors glowing with blue light from the third set of crystals. The shape of a gigantic black widow was forming, and a spike of fear rammed through Jarlaxle's spine at the sight. If Lolth or one of her servants could actually be summoned here . . . Surely it was impossible, but—

Pulling out one of his swords, Jarlaxle struck the front mirror with the hilt, pouring every once of his strength behind the strike. The mirror shattered, cutting his hands and revealing a hallway beyond. Without a second thought, he fled.

* * *

Since it was his turn to be rear guard, Darvin was stuck following behind Tai and Miri and watching them flirt. The only good thing about this day was that he and Miri had apologized to each other for their earlier fight. Everything else was in shambles: They were following dirt paths through the forest instead of the main road to Zelbross, Tai had proven to be the most capable fighter during both of their confrontations with the Zhents, and Miri was blatantly attracted to Tai. It was a nightmare! Miri had been his for as long as he could remember, and now this newcomer was trying to steal her away? 

All of nature seemed to plan together to increase Darvin's ire: puffy clouds floated lazily through the azure sky, cardinals hopped from branch to branch eyeing worms on the ground, and a gentle breeze whispered through the leaves. Happy squirrels skittered up tree trunks, and butterflies flitted through the warm air.

Darvin had an overwhelming urge to slaughter every living thing in sight.

No. Nature wasn't the worst of it. What absolutely infuriated Darvin was the revelation he'd received while communing the night before. Tai was the Chosen of Hoar, and Hoar had ordered Darvin to keep the brat safe! It had struck him as so absurd that he wouldn't have believed it had Hoar not told him directly. The half elf clenched his fists. Surely, surely Hoar would not choose such a boy to be his Chosen. The boy didn't even fight with a javelin, when every follower of Hoar knew that was Hoar's favored weapon! And he had never heard of the Assurian Codex, much less read it! 

Darvin punched one fist into the palm of his hand. Didn't Hoar realize that he was the better choice? He'd been trained in the priesthood since he was seven years old. He fought with a javelin, and he'd memorized the entire Codex word for word! He carried out every single Code to the letter, and he often forewent sleep in his diligence to vengeance. Why had Hoar not chosen him instead? It would make a mockery of the entire religion if someone as backwards, unschooled, and countrified as Tai Vatoshie were the Chosen.

Darvin was distracted from his inner rant by Miri's trill of laughter. Tai was grinning at her like an idiot—he could see that silly smile from here—and Miri was patting him on the arm! Darvin growled. What was this? A strategic overthrowing of his entire life?

Darvin glared at Tai all the harder and wondered that Tai didn't feel his back sizzling. What did Miri see in him? He was sissified! With that shoulder-length glossy hair and royal blue cloak, he looked like a woman! And those slanted eyes and that swallow complexion—he obviously had some questionable blood running in his veins. And he was fully human! What did Miri possibly think she could have in common with someone who didn't understand the elven half of her heritage?

Clenching his jaw so much his neck hurt, Darvin growled again. He had no idea what game Miri was playing, but he knew there had to be one. She had always been the bubbly type—demonstrative, charismatic, and ready to talk the ear off of everyone she met. She also got bored easily, jumping from friend to friend. That she had maintained a lifelong relationship with him told Darvin all he needed to know: they were destined to be together.

"Yes," Darvin muttered to himself. Why was he so upset? She'd bore of this country boy soon enough and return to him as she always did. That she was more goo-goo eyed than normal meant nothing.

"Absolutely nothing," Darvin repeated to himself. In the end, he would save her life, not Tai. So the Stonars could send all the devils of the nine hells at him if they wished! Darvin would defeat them and prove to Miri that he was the only one who deserved her affection. Maybe Tai would even die in the attack.

All the better.

* * *

Entreri stormed out of the room without paying any attention to his direction. Without a thought, he turned right at the last moment and whisked down the hallway into the next room. He didn't hear Nyx following him—she was too quiet for that—but he felt her pacing him, keeping close to his back without stepping on his heels. 

He was beginning to understand the type of person she was: the kind who protects others from life's pitfalls and tends to the wounds of their hearts; he also recognized that she was drawn to him, as though she sensed his inner anger and understood it. Most importantly of all, he knew she would always choose him over Jarlaxle in any disagreement. Perhaps that, over other things, made him appreciate her.

Entreri entered the new room with only a precursory check for traps and then retreated to the far edge so he could pace. His rage couldn't be contained, and for a reason he didn't stop to ponder, he didn't bother to hide it from Nyx. She leaned against the wall and watched him while he paced and stared at his surroundings with suspicion.

"I know there's a trap," he said, avoiding the real topic of his thoughts. The place looked like a ballroom; with a thirty foot ceiling studded with diamond chandeliers and an expansive wooden floor of a checker design, it promised space for twirling ladies and gentlemen. No furniture marred the area other than a few plush chairs against the walls, and a small stage presented itself in the left-hand corner. "Too normal," he muttered.

Nyx pointed to the series of marble statues that dotted the peach-colored walls. "I don't trust those."

Entreri stopped and considered the detailed forms, most of which were dragons. "I don't either." He began pacing again. "Nor do I trust drow."

It was out in the open. Not that they could avoid the discussion; Jarlaxle had betrayed Nyx as well. Still, the monk didn't reply. She seemed to be reining in her own emotions and then holding her silence, as though she had decided just to listen.

Entreri accepted the unspoken invitation. "He should have told me—us. I understand the concept of 'playing close to the chest,' but I'm not his enemy. We're his allies, and he took a bet on our lives without informing us."

"Yes." Nyx took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. She raised one finger. "But we knew that we were entering danger when we came," she continued in the tone of one playing devil's advocate. "We knew we were in mortal danger long before we reached this castle."

"Fair enough," Entreri admitted. "But who said I wanted to join or conquer the Zhentarim? Who said I wanted to live in this area or set up business here? We're supposed to be on our way to Waterdeep, but every time we head that direction, Jarlaxle gets us embroiled in something new." It was an unfair accusation, since their first detour had been at the request of Tai, but Entreri wasn't feeling fair.

Nyx smirked, but when she spoke, her tone was still one of devil's advocate. "Perhaps Jarlaxle is looking for a business of his own and simply hopes you will be interested as well."

Entreri snorted. "And if I'm not interested? Will he force my hand or attempt to manipulate me into staying?"

"He cares about you," Nyx replied flatly. "Don't misunderstand: I don't like what he did here. But he does like you. He shows it terribly, as though he has no idea what to do with the emotions, but the feeling is genuine."

Entreri stopped in his pacing and snapped around to face Nyx, startled both by her words and her audacity at saying them aloud. He stared at her hard, in the way that made most people flee his presence, but she didn't take the bait. "If he likes me, he should respect me. Not use me like a pawn."

"Do you respect him?"

_I admire him,_ Entreri thought, and shocked by the answer, he turned away. "I wouldn't double cross him unless he put me in severe danger out of his own greed." He snorted and crossed his arms. "Like right now." He glanced back at Nyx, wondering what the goodly monk of Hoar made of all this treachery. She was hiding her feelings well, and Entreri wondered if she were simply biding her time until she were free of the maze. Would she leave with Tai as soon as the mission was complete? Entreri didn't yet know her well enough to predict her decision.

Nyx seemed to be watching him carefully. "I don't know that either of you sees the other as a person. Or rather, you both do and don't. You are drawn to each other out of mutual veneration, but you distrust each other on a level that means you don't see the other one as flesh and blood, capable of feelings and pain." She smiled as though to take the sting out of her words. "It's an easy thing to do when you're busy trying to defend yourself."

Entreri scowled. It seemed a particularly humanist thing to say, but then again, the difference of perspective was valuable. If talking to himself could solve all his problems, he wouldn't have any, as he'd learned from his time with Dwahvel. "If you're right, then it would seem we are at a stalemate."

"And if one of you breaks the stalemate? Could you move forward?"

"I'm unsure." Entreri dropped his arms and threw up his hands. "And I'm unsure that I want to move forward. None of this changes the fact that he planned our business for us, without our approval. I've warned him off that course of action many times."

Nyx raised her hand in a _hold on_ gesture. "If I read the situation correctly, you warned him off of manipulating people on a personal level. An emotional one, if you will. What he did this time was purely business, and you suspected him of it long before we arrived here, did you not?"

Entreri stopped pacing, internally surprised by her words. She paid more attention than he had given her credit for. "The question is still the same: are we his partners or puppets?"

"Or something in between?" The corner of Nyx's mouth twisted up into a half-smile. "Maybe he's in a state of transition between the normal drow code of conduct and something more human."

Entreri tilted his head and smirked. "I'm not the savior of his soul."

"But in purely business terms, we need his help to escape from this place."

And there is was: the double-edged sword. He had used Jarlaxle as well, and he would again in this situation. Could he condemn someone for behavior he committed himself? They both currently operated by the same code of mutual benefit, and in the end, Jarlaxle had been seeing to lining their pockets with gold. It was not so different than something Entreri himself would do—it was simply executed in a different style.

"True." He returned her half- smile, realizing she understood the way he thought. He also realized he understood her as well: she wanted to help and save others, even complete strangers, and yet she was unafraid of the darkness in others. She faced whatever she met head on. He almost laughed. "Very well. Let's go round him up."

Nyx nodded, and they carefully crossed the floor. When they stepped through the doorway into the hallway, however, Entreri felt like they'd crossed a magical barrier of some kind. The assassin paused, aware that a breeze blew down the hall that they hadn't felt before leaving the room.

"Did you sense that?" he asked.

"Yes." Nyx's hand hovered over her nunchuku. "Were we magically cut off from the hallway?"

Entreri had a strange thought concerning dimensions that lay parallel but separate to each other. "Jarlaxle?" he called, and he cursed himself for feeling such worry on top of legitimate anger. He ran into the room where they'd left the drow, but he wasn't there. "Jarlaxle?"

"Did he turn left instead of right?" Nyx asked, for the room they had been teleported into only had one exit.

Entreri jogged out of the room and down the left side of the hallway to the doorway of another room, which was larger than the ballroom. Pastel-colored crystals, shining mauve, lavender, and blue, protruded from the ceiling, and mirrors covered all the walls.

"A room of mirrors," Entreri said as Nyx joined him. "I can only imagine what traps fill this place." He searched the doorway for traps, and finding none stepped across the doorjamb.

Nyx followed and pointed at the glass shards lying in the floor. "I would say he's been in here."

Entreri frowned. That the shards were in the middle of the floor, away from the unmarred mirrors, suggested extreme danger. "Be very careful."

Nyx gasped, and when he turned to look at her, Entreri realized why. The doorway behind them had disappeared, leaving only mirrors and an exit on the far side of the room.

* * *

"I think he hates me," Tai said, allowing Miri to loop her arm through his. They were resting on a creek bank after refilling their canteens, and Darvin had wandered off to relieve himself. Miri's wolf, Stormrider, sat a few feet behind them, keeping watch. 

"Darvin is just over-possessive," Miri replied, her gaze trained on the water sparkling in the sunlight. "It makes me insane. I don't believe in arranged marriages, dowries, or bride prices. I'm not 'goods', and when I marry, it won't be an economic transfer of property. Therefore, it goes without saying that I won't let anyone—friend, father, or husband—treat me like a thing to be owned."

Tai's brow wrinkled. He'd never stopped to consider the symbolism of things like dowries, bride prices, or 'giving away' the bride at a wedding ceremony. Now that he considered it . . . "I don't blame you."

Miri sighed and slumped. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to insult Darvin. He has always been my best friend. Like I told you the other day, he just has this over-protective streak that gets on my nerves at times."

Tai wondered if he should warn Miri that he and Darvin might come to blows over the matter. Darvin's seething glares told Tai all he needed to know about the situation, and Tai didn't feel compelled to back down.

"Still," Miri said, her gaze returning to the trickling creek, "I'm no one's property. I'm not some dog to be fought over, waiting to see which fighter kills the other first."

Tai flinched, Miri's words hitting too close to the violence that might erupt if Darvin couldn't calm himself.

"Let's not talk about this anymore," Miri said suddenly, pulling away her arm. "This topic angers me."

"Certainly," Tai said, staring to the clear water himself. Smooth brown stones littered the creek bed, and minnows darted between the rocks. A single green leaf floated past, dancing with the current.

In truth, Tai wanted to ask Miri more questions about Darvin—not ones about his feelings for Miri, but rather ones about Darvin as a priest. The half elf's hypocrisy bothered Tai. Granted, the issue with the Assurian Codex may have merely being Darvin trying to make himself look better in front of Miri. But Tai suspected Darvin's horror had been sincere. If so, then he had missed the whole point of their religion! He had immersed himself in surface rules and regulations and didn't understand Hoar's personality and desires. Tai shook his head, deeply disturbed. How could one follow a god—even become a priest of a god—and still so utterly misunderstand who that god really was?

Tai glanced at Miri, wondering how he could politely inquire about Darvin's religious attitude, but she frowned suddenly and spoke first.

"Why?" she asked, her brown furrowing.

Tai scrambled to remember their previous conversation so he could figure out what she was asking, but nothing came to mind. "Why what?"

"Why blood?"

Tai deduced that she was talking about the prophecy. "It's always blood. We were created out of dirt, our blood nearly the same color as clay. Blood gives us life, creating a circle through our body that matches the cycle of the seasons, the cycle of the moon, and the circle of the gods. Our blood intact allows us to live, and spilled it's inevitability a sacrifice, a death. It can never be anything other than blood."

Miri nodded, but her gaze seemed to look past Tai into a realm he couldn't see. "All of time is a cycle, a circle—damnation or salvation. And my blood spilled can do either. I can destroy or save the world."

Tai squeezed her hand. "We'll make sure that it saves instead of destroys."

She bit her lip. "I've always resisted this whole concept. I always bragged about making the world a better place, rallying people to causes like protecting the forest. I walked boldly forward, defying the prophecy to ever come true." Tears stood in her eyes. "But now . . . now I'm running for my life, running from the curse." She suddenly focused on Tai's face, grabbing him by both arms. "I don't want to fail! I can't fail!" She squeezed harder. "I refuse to destroy innocent people and the land I promised I would protect."

Tai smiled at her, but he knew his expression was sad. He reached up with one hand and smoothed her long hair back from her face. "You don't have to make your stand alone. I'm here with you, and even if Darvin hates me, he will never allow anything bad to happen to you."

Miri released Tai's arms and rubbed the tears from her eyes. "I know. It's just—it's just . . ." She sighed and leaned forward, resting her forehead on Tai's shoulder. "I feel a sense of impending doom."

Tai wrapped his arms around her. "Don't give voice to that fear. The gods made the realms by speaking them into existence, and the mortals in the realms are made in the gods' likeness. That means our words have power to create and destroy, too."

Miri straightened. "But sometimes I feel so sca—"

Tai put his finger over her mouth, stopping her. "You won't make your stand alone—you'll have two mortals and a god on your side."

Miri blinked, then pulled his finger away and seemed to gather her courage. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "That's true. Wise advice, once again." She gave him a wan smile. "Plus I've trained in druidism all my life and built up my strength. I should believe in myself and my friends!"

Tai wasn't going to trust only in his own strength or Miri's, but he was glad she felt better. "That's the Miri-_sen_ I know! Optimistic and self-assured."

Miri clasped his hands and squeezed them. "Well, it helps to have someone else who also believes in me."

Tai blushed.

* * *

With a smile, Lander stepped away from the scrying mirror Melcer had enchanted before he left. He dropped into his study chair and propped his feet on his mahogany desk, all the while humming an aimless tune. It was perfect. Perfect. 

Turning his attention upon a pastoral painting, which showed a milk maid wandering along a dirt path, Lander lost himself in the peace of the picture and relaxed. Yes, his plans were proceeding nicely. With the drow elf having been assaulted by the Room of Mirrored Souls and the humans now facing the same trap, his opposition was effectively crushed. The Room of Mirrored Souls was Melcer's masterpiece—it had been created from an ancient magical item he had twisted for his own purposes, and it rarely left its victims sane.

"Destroyed by the darkness in your own heart," Lander mused aloud, then closed his eyes in preparation for a short nap. With things going this well, he could afford to rest, and since he'd just been healed of his wound, he needed the sleep. Beyond the stained glass window, he could hear bobwhites singing to one another, and he allowed the sound to soothe him.

. . . but what if Melcer fails? a quiet voice asked.

Lander opened his eyes and stared at the wrought iron chandelier above his head. "Not possible," he answered himself. "Melcer is more than a match for two young priests and a druid. He will bring back the sacrifice before nightfall."

The voice didn't bother to answer. Reassured, Lander closed his eyes again. The only thing in the universe that he trusted other than his own power was his twin's abilities. Melcer had been his sounding board and supporter, the one who found the holes in his logic, picked him up during his depressive slumps, and believed in his plans even when other Zhents laughed at him. It had been so since they were ten years old, when their parents had died. Left alone in a household full of servants, shunned by the rest of their family, the boys had nothing but each other and the butler, who was their legal guardian. At that point, their childish attempts to compete with one another had immediately halted, replaced instead with hours of hiding themselves away in the tower rooms, talking and playing only with each other. Then even the kindly butler had died when they were sixteen, and the young men had been truly alone, depending solely on each other to be both family and friend.

To Lander, the world had seemed a distant place since their parents had died, and seventeen years later it still seemed that way despite all his travels, Zhent training, contacts, allies, and enemies. No one could ever understand Lander the way his brother did—the one who had cried with him in the observation tower after their parents' funeral, the one who had shared his bed when he'd had nightmares in the months following the deaths, and the one who had grown up to be his number one supporter. Lander felt like he lived with his brother on the inside of a globe, with the world outside staring in. Now, though, the world would be inside the globe, and he and Melcer would hold that globe in the palms of their hands.

And this was exactly why Lander could never doubt his brother. His brother deserved nothing but his full support and confidence. Lander would never give Melcer anything less than Melcer had given him.

"Yes," Lander said aloud, as though affirming his beliefs to the watching gods. "Melcer will return with the sacrifice by nightfall. And when he does, this battle will be as good as won."


	5. Ghosts

_A/N: "Spiritual Wrath" and its visual description and damage are from the game Icewind Dale II and not Player's Handbook 3.5. No flogging please._

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Melcer and his two guards prepared for battle on the shore of Medelbar Lake—if such a small body of water deserved the title of lake. Two swans floated gracefully on the algae-tinted water, along with a flock of ducks which broke the silence with quacking. The scene should have evoked tranquility in Melcer's soul, yet he felt pure fear. What if he failed to capture the half elf? What if he let his brother down?

Melcer shook his head, picked up a smooth stone from the shore, and skipped it across the water. He couldn't afford such negative thoughts. While he'd used magic in direct battle only twice, he'd performed beautifully both times. Besides, he'd been practicing magic since age five, performing spells not only for Lander but also for their parents before they'd been killed. He had nothing to fear.

And yet the anxiety would not leave, twisting his stomach like a dishrag and sending live coals burning through his veins.

"Lander," he whispered, then glanced back at the two soldiers to see if they'd overheard. The men were sitting on a boulder further back form the shore, sharpening their blades. Satisfied, Melcer turned back around and stared at the swans bobbing on the lake. "Lander, how can I get out from under your shadow?"

Being Lander's brother had not been easy—Lander, the natural warrior, leader, and strategist. Their parents had been insanely proud since they were Zhent soldiers and spies themselves. They understood Lander, appreciated his prowess, which promised to surpass their own. They hadn't understood the book-obsessed Melcer, and he had resented that. Yet when they had died, Melcer was all alone in the world except for his brother, and he'd found himself taking care of his older twin, who had suffered nightmares as a child and fits of depression as an adult. Realizing his twin was not superhuman, Melcer's antagonism had faded, and he'd thrown himself into the role of protector and supporter.

But now he had momentarily traded roles with Lander, becoming the hunter and warrior—the one who had to carry out the centerpiece of their plan.

Melcer shook the thoughts away. There was only one option for this venture: overwhelming success. His talents as a wizard were equally useful, without a doubt.

"Are you ready, sir?" one of the soldiers yelled.

Melcer faced them and smiled. "Yes." His spells were prepared, his materials in his robe pockets, and his spellbook in his small pack.

"Then shall we attack them in Zelbross?" the man asked.

"No," the wizard said. "I've been scrying them, so I know they will not overnight there. We'll ambush them as they leave. Remember, capturing the girl without harming her is our main mission."

Both men nodded.

Melcer could hear his heart beat as though it were in his ears—a drum beating inside his brain. Now was the time. "Then let's go."

* * *

Tai glanced around the bustling inn said to be the best in Zelbross and realized with some mirth that everything was made of deer antlers: the chandeliers were many antlers wired together, the chair tops were capped with antler pieces, and deer heads hung on every square inch of the walls. Even the door handles were constructed from antler pieces. With the cedar walls, floor, and rafters, Tai felt like he stood in a massive deer coffin. 

"Homey," Tai said as a waitress seated Miri, Darvin, and him.

The sarcasm was lost on the young woman. "Thank you, sir. Would you like ale?"

Miri ordered white wine instead, and Tai opted for fresh lemonade. Darvin, however, accepted the offer of ale, specifying honeymead.

"Lemonade?" Darvin asked, smirking, after the waitress left.

Tai blinked at him, unaware what fault lemonade could have. "Of course. There's nothing better at the end of a hot day than lemonade." He stopped to think about it. "Or lemon cookies. Or lemon meringue pie, lemon custard pie, lemon chess pie, lemon chiffon pie, buttermilk lemon pie . . ."

Miri laughed. "I guess I know what you'll have for dessert."

Tai smiled at her, painfully happy to have this one normal meal with her before they set out for Secomber. After much discussion, they'd decided to move on to a larger town than Zelbross, and one further away from the Stonars.

Darvin snorted. "Forget the dessert. Right now all I'm interested in is a fat steak with an equally fat potato smothered in butter. And perhaps some corn."

Miri shook her head. "I never have been able to get you to eat anything other than cheese and fruit for dessert." She stood. "Order the house specialty for me, gentlemen. We may not be staying overnight here, but I'm at least going to clean up while they prepare our food."

Tai and Darvin both stood.

"You shouldn't go alone," Darvin said.

Miri waved him away. "I'll let Stormrider in through the window. He'll guard me; don't worry." She turned away without further discussion and headed toward the stairs.

The men sat down again.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this," Tai said, crossing his arms.

Darvin sighed. "I can agree with you on that."

The waitress arrived with their drinks and took their orders, leaving Tai to stare at Darvin. The sun was setting, throwing the tavern into partial shadow. One such shadow obscured half of Darvin's face, making him look extra sour. The half elf almost reminded Tai of Entreri, except the assassin's surly moods seemed to dwell in the pit of his soul, as though his entire worldview had been exploded at a young age. Darvin, however, seemed merely arrogant and petulant, like a child who had lost a piece of candy.

"What?" Darvin snapped, turning a sudden glower upon Tai. "Why are you staring at me?"

Tai took a deep breath, schooling himself to patience and beginning to form a polite response that would negotiate peace and understanding. Nothing would be gained from returning that anger; Tai's entire life was a testament to that. And yet, Darvin was just so hateful, Tai wished for once . . .

"Well?" Darvin demanded, still glaring. "Are you just going to keep staring at me?"

Tai exhaled in a clipped sigh and just glared back. "I'm attempting to figure out why you decided to instantly hate me."

Darvin blinked, as though he'd expected anything but this direct approach. "I don't need your help protecting Miri." He smoothed down his white robes—a second pair he'd been carrying in his backpack, given that his first pair had been destroyed in their earlier battles. "If anything, I think having you around makes us more conspicuous. We could have passed as husband and wife or as siblings without you."

That was the dumbest thing Tai had ever heard, and the image of Miri and Darvin even pretending to be married grated on his nerves. "What difference would that make? The Stonars know exactly what Miri looks like—you can call yourselves whatever you like, and it won't fool them."

"But they're not here," Darvin replied. "Only their soldiers."

"Who are no doubt guided by the Stonar who is the wizard, so once again we're back to the fact that they can find her no matter what."

Darvin pointed his finger in Tai's face with a look of victory. "In that case, we may as well have stayed home, and you should have never been hired!"

Darvin was pointing a finger in his face as though he were a small child? The audacity! "Master Brightwood felt that the further away she was, the safer she'd be. There is too much Zhent activity in your home town."

Darvin dropped his hand and sat back. "And what does Hoar tell you?" he snarled, the left corners of his nose and mouth twisting up.

Tai instinctively put his hand over the symbol of Hoar which was sewn on his royal blue cloak. Why was he asking such a pointed question about Hoar? "Nothing specific."

"Well," Darvin began, lifting his chin, "the Assurian Codex—"

"Is a fine collection of writings," Tai interrupted, instantly irritated. "But Hoar never meant for his priests and followers to obsess over each and every code and example recorded there. You sound like a Tyrist! Do you not see who our god is? Do you not realize it is possible to so overly focus on a code that you miss the whole spirit behind it?"

Darvin jumped to his feet, causing his chair to fly backwards. "Don't you dare preach to me, country boy!"

"Country boy?" How was Darvin's home any less rural than his own, and what did Darvin know about it anyway? Tai stood as well and faced down the arrogant priest. "Well, maybe what you need is a wake up call from a country boy. Do you even listen for Hoar's voice anymore, or are you just going through the ritual?"

Darvin's pale blue eyes seemed to darken into the electric blue of a candle flame. "Don't. You. Ever. Insult. Me!" He clenched his fists. "I am a far superior priest now that you'll be in fifty years!" He struck out, driving a right hook at Tai's jaw.

Tai hadn't even realized he'd shifted into a defensive fighting stance; the pure rage flowing from Darvin had triggered the response automatically. At the punch, Tai blocked with his left arm, but it was a fraction too late. Darvn's fist hit at an angle, skimming his jaw and throwing him backwards into the table. Tai steadied himself, but the drinks toppled over at the impact. From behind him, Tai heard a woman scream, and several men let out whoops.

Without even thinking, Tai struck back—after months of intense fighting at the sides of Nyx, Entreri, and Jarlaxle, he reacted by instinct. He jabbed Darvin in the jaw with a quick upper cut, knocking him into the empty table behind him. Darvin shook his head and vaulted forward, knocking Tai into the floor, then straddling him and grabbing him by the neck. The pressure against his Adam's apple tickled Tai's memory, and then suddenly, he experienced a mental flash of his rape, during which Mordecai had choked him.

Overcome with rage and fear, Tai grabbed a fistful of Darvin's robes, bucked up his hips, tucked one leg, and rolled. Darvin lost his balance, and in seconds Tai was on top. He hiked back his fist and slugged Darvin in the cheek with all his strength.

Darvin cried out in pain and forced them into another roll, which Tai immediately threw off. Within moments, the men had rolled across floor and hit the bottom step of the staircase, their entire fight egged on by yells and clapping from the other dinners.

Except one.

"_Stop it_!"

Tai, who was back on top, looked up to see Miri standing on the second to bottom stair. Both he and Darvin ceased immediately.

Miri stared down at them, her eyes hooded. "Grow up." She crossed her arms. "The whole point of civilization is that people don't act like animals. So quit your territorial marking and get up off the floor."

Without even replying, Tai and Darvin let go of each other and stood up. Darvin smoothed down his white robes methodically and stared at his feet.

Tai faired little better. His face burning with embarrassment, he straightened out his cloak and bowed deeply to Miri. "I'm so terribly sorry, Miri-_sema_," he said, defaulting to the highest honorific of his culture. "I didn't intend to insult or humiliate you."

There was a pause of silence, and then out of the corner of his vision, Tai saw Darvin bow slightly.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Miri. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I only forgive you on the condition that the two of you never fight again," Miri said.

Tai straightened and looked into her face. Her expression had eased, but he could tell she was both worried and angry. He would have to apologize again later when Darvin wasn't too close by.

Miri walked past them to their table, and Tai looked at the stiff and embarrassed Darvin. The half elf merely turned his back and trailed Miri.

Tai sighed. _So much for a relaxed supper._ And it was his fault. If he'd retained his patience, the fight likely wouldn't have occurred, and Miri wouldn't be upset. But the two impulses warred within him: the part that enjoyed punching Darvin repeatedly, and the part that knew violence wasn't the answer. Wrath and pride versus wisdom and maturity . . .

"No one said it would be easy," Tai muttered, and followed after the two half elves.

* * *

Entreri and Nyx surveyed the room of mirrors with unease, and Nyx ran her hands over the mirror which covered where the door had been. The glowing crystals in the ceiling were reflected all around the room, bathing the floor with a mauve, blue, and lavender haze. 

"I don't like this," Nyx said.

Growling at the trap, Entreri unsheathed his sword, preparing to break the mirror, but the room began spinning around him, the mirrors twisting into a silver blur before righting themselves again. Suddenly, Entreri was alone in a box of mirrors, and Nyx was nowhere in sight. The mirror beside him glowed with a mauve light, and he was confronted with a scene: he saw himself as an eight-year-old child. He sat alone at the supper table, staring at the scraps of stale bread his father had left for him to eat, and his uncle had sat on the bench him.

"Be good now," he whispered, reaching out a hand to touch Entreri's leg. "You want to please me, right?" The hand continued to travel up his leg, and the emaciated child grabbed his uncle's wrist, trying in vain to halt the assault.

"Stop!" he screamed.

"Stop?" his uncle said. "Why? It's your fault this is happening in the first place. If you weren't such a bad child, I wouldn't be forced to treat you this way."

The scene caused a burning sensation, both steaming and icy, to pulse through the assassin's veins and made his fingertips throb. It was too real—he could feel the rough wooden bench beneath his thighs, smell the whiskey on his uncle's breath, and even hear the shouts of free, happy children playing in the streets beyond. Worst of all, he could feel the calloused hand stroking up his bare leg.

With desperation, Entreri mentally pushed the memory away, not wanting to see what would come next, not wanting to _acknowledge_ what came next. Inexplicable shame burned his face—absolute humiliation. He hit the mirror with his open palm and twisted away, facing the opposite direction. His heart pounded in his chest, feeling as though it would break his ribs. "What is this?" he growled.

But the mirror he now faced also glowed with a mauve light, showing him another scene from his past: his father chased him through the dirty streets, screaming at him. Entreri's scrawny legs were coated in dust and were trembling with the strain of escaping his father's violence, but the man showed no signs of giving up. The boy ducked into a sandy alleyway, trying to hide, and his knees shook with the effort of standing. Sweat poured down his dirt-smudged forehead, and his small chest heaved with gasps he tried to silence. The stench of urine, camel dung, and sweat filled the air, tempting Entreri to choke on the air he inhaled. His father was only a few feet away, cursing and stumbling from his drunkenness.

Entreri growled at the image, disgusted by the small, weak child he had been—powerless and unable to control his own destiny, at the mercy of another's sick and violent whims. He had managed to outsmart the oaf at times; other times, however . . .

Clenching his fists, Entreri punched the mirror with a solid left thrust, but although the mirror cracked, it didn't shatter. He turned away again, and this time the mirror before him glowed lavender.

"Now what?" In his anger, Entreri felt as though even a slow, torturous death wouldn't be heinous enough to punish the Stonars for this particular trap.

The image in the mirror took form, revealing a present-day version of Entreri. The assassin's brow furrowed as the details revealed themselves, showing him as a blind and crippled beggar, his left leg withered and sticking out at an odd angle as he sat in the dirt grasping at a rich priest's robes. The sun beat down upon his head, scorching his skin, and flies crawled upon his flesh.

"No!" Entreri commanded, rejecting the image with his soul. "I will never be that man!" He would never be powerless, dying under merciless hands. He had built himself up to the perfect warrior to secure safety from that very fate.

The scene expanded, revealing that the priest was Tai, and walking with him were Jarlaxle and Nyx, both of whom ignored Entreri.

"Rubbish," Entreri snarled, holding out his gauntleted hand in an attempt to defeat the magic. He felt resolute. Tai would never be that kind of man anymore than Entreri would be the beggar in the dust. If Entreri had ever doubted otherwise, he would have never accepted the priest as an ally, for there was nothing he hated more than self-righteous priests who violated their own codes of honor.

The mirror's image vanished under the gauntlet's pressure, and Entreri turned to the final mirror with a growing smirk. "I know your game."

The lavender light in the final mirror rippled and brought into focus a grey-haired Entreri. He stood over a cowering boy, yelling.

"You exist to please me, you worthless brat!" the old Entreri yelled. "You may be too stupid to know it, but when I give you an order, you follow it!" He punched the child with a heavy right hook, shattering the boy's cheekbone. The boy shrieked as he fell, blood splattering upon the wall, but old Entreri didn't stop. "Now, for the second time, lower your pants."

"Never!" the assassin said, disgusted by the image. Acid from his stomach burnt his sinuses as though he'd vomit. "I will never be that man, either!" He would never become what he hated most. Enraged beyond thought and comprehension, Entreri let loose and punched the mirror with both fists, pouring a lifetime's fury into the slugs. The glass shattered, cutting his uncovered fist and his face, and the box collapsed.

Entreri bent double, propping his hands on his knees as he panted. Sick bastards. How dare they show him such a cursed illusion! He straightened when he caught his breath, and wiped the blood from his face. Only then did he realize he was standing in the middle of the room beside another box. The mirrors on the wall were reflecting the glowing crystals on the ceiling, aiming beams of light into the box.

"Nyx!" Entreri yelled, banging on the outside of the box. "Nyx? Break the glass!"

"Artemis?" came a strangled voice.

At the sound of her voice, in truly struck Entreri that she was being tortured as well. He yelled again. "Yes! Listen to me. Break the glass." He stepped away and shielded his face, not knowing where she would smash the mirrors. The back of the box shattered, and the monk stumbled out, her complexion having lost what little color it normally possessed.

Nyx staggered over to Entreri and grabbed him by both arms. "You— Tai— The blood . . .!"

Him? Not just Tai? Her comment made no sense. Was her alliance with him more than just the typical goodly fool's loyalty? Feeling a touch strange, Entreri snaked his arms under and through hers, gently pushing her elbows outward until he broke her grasp. "It's just an illusion, not a prophecy. Don't accept it."

She stared at him with eyes so wide that he grabbed her shoulders and squeezed. He felt a confusing mix of emotions—one that wanted to respond to the fact she cared, and the other to tell her to get over it. "Your loyalty is commendable," he told her, realizing that she'd probably seen his and Tai's deaths, "but do not let them use it against you."

Her brow furrowed, and Entreri felt as though he were seeing the illusion fade from her mind. "Right. A trap." She lifted a hand to her temple. "It was odd. I saw my father being killed, and I saw myself at the monastery being—" She stopped abruptly. "I saw the past, and then what looked like the future."

"Not a prophecy," Entreri reiterated.

Nyx nodded. "You're right." She frowned at him. "Are you okay?"

The assassin realized he was still holding her shoulders and let go. "Yes." However, the images seemed to squirm inside his mind even as he spoke, as though they would eventually force themselves free. Entreri clenched his jaw and swallowed the emotions. He had to hold himself together, even if it only lasted a few days.

"If Jarlaxle really did go through this room—" Nyx began, then paused with a frown. "What hides in the corners of a drow's mind?"

The question hit Entreri squarely, and he cursed. Turning, he strode toward the far exit. "The darkest of the dark, I'm sure. Let's go find him."

* * *

"How much further?" Darvin asked, his tone grumpy. 

Miri laughed and took his arm. "Don't say that. You sound like a child."

Tai had rear point, so he watched their familiarity with a tinge of envy. He yanked his emotions under control, however. Jealousy was unseemly, and it was clear that Miri merely considered Darvin a friend. Telling himself to grow up, Tai glanced around their surroundings, checking for movement amongst the tree trunks and brush. They were taking a trail to Secomber instead of walking the main road, but it didn't make Tai feel any safer. Night was falling, and the shadows seemed to blossom from the forest floor like black flowers.

Stormrider, Miri's wolf, had front point as usual. He seemed uneasy, and that disquieted Tai as well. The night was silent—unnaturally so. The air should have been filled with cricket chirps and toad croaks, but all Tai heard was the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Without warning, black rubbery tentacles erupted from the ground, snatching up Tai and Darvin and wrapping around their chests and neck. Tai managed to get his arm up in time to protect his throat.

"Miri!" he yelled, struggling against the crushing pressure.

Two soldiers and a man in wizard's robes stepped out from the trees. The man propped one hand on his hip and cocked his head. His black ponytail bobbed to the side. "You've caused my brother and me a great deal of trouble, little half-elf," he said.

Miri backed up a step. "One of the Stonars, I presume," she replied, raising her arms in a defensive stance.

"Melcer Stonar," the man said with a slight bow. He straightened and snapped his fingers. Tai watched in horror as the two soldiers responded by running toward Miri.

"Stormrider!" Miri called, and the wolf attacked the first soldier, clamping down on his arm and jerking his head back and forth in an attempt to rip it off. The soldier screamed and swung his sword at the animal, driving the blade straight through Stormrider's spine. The wolf yelped and thrashed before collapsing and dying.

"No!" Miri screamed, and Tai could hear the tears in her voice. She jumped backward and threw her arms up to the sky. "Heavens, I call upon your destructive power! _Anaman!_"

Wind tore through the trees, whipping off leaves and tossing Miri's pale hair. The sky turned pink as bruised clouds formed, then suddenly hail fell from the sky toward Miri's hands. She threw her arms forward, aiming the ice stones at the soldiers and Melcer. The hail opened gashes upon the soldiers, but Melcer was unharmed.

"Child," he hissed. He pulled crossbolts from his pockets, holding them between his fingers. With the other hand, he took a piece of flint and struck across their tips. "_Somer_!" The crossbolts flared into fiery arrows that he threw at Miri, but the druid dodged each strike.

Meanwhile, Tai and Darvin fought the rubbery tentacles. Tai pushed the tentacle around his neck further away so he could speak better. "In the name of Hoar, I dispel your power!" he said, drawing a circle in the air with his free hand. Instantly, the black plant disappeared, dropping the priests to the ground. The two injured soldiers noticed them and began to close in on their position.

Melcer, however, was deep into spell-casting. He had pulled a small glass globe from one pocket and was holding it before him. "May Otiluke's power fill this vessel," he said. The globe expanded into a shimmering sphere and encased Miri even as she began to cast a spell of her own.

"No!" Tai rushed forward, blocking a sword strike from the soldier with the mutilated arm. He buried his enchanted dagger into the man's chest, expelling lightning bolts into his chest. The man jerked, spit flying from his mouth, and collapsed. Tai yanked his dagger free and charged Melcer.

Melcer had faced him. "Impertinent child." He raised his hands.

Tai reached into his soul and touched the thread that connected him to Hoar. "In Hoar's name, I summon my ally!"

A flash of golden light lit the area as though a sunbeam had penetrated the earth. The ray expanded in a globe, and a dark form took shape inside. A bass roar rent the air as a black celestial bear stood on its hind legs and bellowed.

Melcer took several steps backward.

From the corner of his vision, Tai could see Darvin grappling with the final soldier. Darvin reached out and touched the man's chest, and a brilliant silver flash erupted from his fingertips. The soldier screamed and fell backward, blood erupting from his mouth.

Assured Darvin could handle himself, Tai marched toward Melcer, the bear in front of him. Melcer, however, was holding his hands palm up and chanting. The bear's form wavered like a rippling pond, and suddenly it snapped from existence, apparently sent back to its natural plane.

"Enough," Melcer said, pulling a wand from his robe.

Tai experienced a moment of panic. If he lost, hundreds of monsters would devastate the land. But more important to Tai—more real and immediate—was the fact Miri would be killed. He couldn't stand the thought of her face pale and her lips blue, of her eyes staring into nothingness. He grabbed hold of his connection to Hoar with all his soul and jerked all the divine power he could through his veins. He clenched his fists before him, locked his jaw, and growled. His entire chest burned, leaving him breathless.

Four azure balls formed around him, one before him, one behind, and one to each side. The balls elongated into thin bolts, and Tai forced all his soul behind the front one, aiming it at Melcer. All four bolts fired like streaks of blue lightening, each bolt perpendicular the next. A horizontal cross formed through Tai's body as the divine energy raced through him.

The front bolt caught Melcer directly in the stomach, throwing him back a dozen feet. The left-hand bolt grazed Darvin's shoulder, and he jumped away with a scream. The final two fired harmlessly into the trees.

The sphere holding Miri popped, and she landed gracefully on her feet. "Tai! Darvin!"

Melcer sat halfway up and croaked several indistinguishable words. In a flash of orange smoke, he vanished.

Tai whirled to Miri and caught her as she threw herself into his arms. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Miri hugged him tightly. "Yes! I am, anyway." She squeezed again and then let him go. She glanced tearfully at Stormrider, then turned her attention to Darvin and rushed to his side. "Darvin! Are you hurt? Let me see . . ."

Tai smiled faintly, attempting to calm his breathing and his heart beat. Stonar had been severely injured, perhaps fatally so. Perhaps they had stopped the prophecy and the danger to Miri, but it was too soon to tell.

All Tai could do was pray.

* * *

Jarlaxle stopped running, easing himself into a walk by reminding himself that the room of mirrors had been a trap. Such a trap couldn't summon Lolth or one of her servants or otherwise harm him physically. Inhaling deeply, the drow tried to calm his breathing and remember his path. He'd come across a fork in the hallway as he'd run and taken a right. He'd have to retrace his steps to find Entreri, which meant going through the mirror trap again. Perhaps the trap was the kind that didn't reset automatically. 

Having gotten himself under control, Jarlaxle started to turn around, but a flicker of light at the end of the hallway caught his eye. An exit? This would be valuable information, if so. He sneaked forward, careful of more traps, until he reached a doorway. The room beyond was a small circular one with a crimson spiral pattern on the white marble floor; in the middle of the spiral was a black circle. Beyond the pattern was a single door with sunlight shining around its cracks.

Distrusting the spiral pattern, Jarlaxle eased around the edge of the room toward the door, wanting to verify that the door truly was an exit. However, the emblem reacted to his presence and emitted a crimson glow, pulling him toward the black circle like a Roper. The circle morphed into a hole.

Jarlaxle fought against the pull, trying to draw his sword and drive it into the floor like a pick axe, but he was caught. In his thrashing, he knocked his hat off his head, and his last sight was the hat flying away from him before he fell into the pit. He tried to engage his levitation, but it failed completely, shocking him and making him land at the bottom too hard. His ankle folded under him, causing pain to shoot up his leg. The drow recovered himself and looked upward, deciding to climb out if necessary. However, the walls towered above him, seeming to clench around him as though giant hands meant to choke the hole shut.

A blue light appeared at Jarlaxle's feet, swirling around his ankles and materializing thick mud in its place. Jarlaxle tried to raise one foot out of it, but the muck held his feet tight, and he was slowly sinking further into it . . . his ankles, his calves. Struggling made him sink faster, and his initial yell was swallowed by an unnatural silence.

Jarlaxle grew deathly still, which stopped his sinking. He was trapped up to his hips in the muck, which suddenly solidified. The opening to the pit closed over him, some fifteen feet above his head, leaving him in utter darkness. His darkvision kicked in, but it showed him nothing but the stone wall encircling him. He reached out and touched the walls with his hands, mentally measuring his space even as he brainstormed a way out of his situation. But the cold stone made him shiver, and he realized he was becoming quickly chilled.

To test the hypothesis forming in the back of his mind, Jarlaxle yelled as loud as he could. Nothing. Just like the veil of magical silence he could lower on spellcasters, this pit neutralized all sound. Next, Jarlaxle grabbed one of his wands and tried firing at the lid which had formed over the hole's opening. Nothing.

The pit was a magical prison—defeating all spells, prohibiting sight, sound, and movement. The perfect trap.

"Great," Jarlaxle said, but of course he heard nothing even as his mouth formed the word.

What now? Jarlaxle considered the nonmagical items he carried; however, they couldn't help him either because his legs were trapped in a substance much like marble. He took a deep breath, but was distracted by the sudden awareness that the total silence was making him hear a faint ringing in his ears. He tried to ignore it, knowing it would irritate him, but once it was noticed, it was hard to forget.

What was worse, Jarlaxle couldn't even sit down because of the place the fake stone had stopped on his body. So he was trapped standing up in a tiny pit with magically enforced silence. The drow couldn't think of anything more boring—or dangerous. How would he escape this trap?

For an instant, the two visions of the future he'd seen crossed his mind: the beggar dying in the street and the madman trapped in Lolth's power. Alone. Would he go mad here, in the maze of torture devices?

Jarlaxle shook the thoughts from his head. They had been illusions, tricks based on fears he had buried deep inside. They wouldn't come true.

Would they?


	6. Illusions

**Chapter Six**

"Melcer!"

Lander raced to his brother's side as he collapsed. He'd been waiting for Melcer to teleport in with the girl, and instead all he saw was a blood-covered figure that crumpled onto the marble floor. For an instant, Lander couldn't draw breath; the panic burnt his veins with such intensity that he went momentarily deaf from fear. If his brother was dead, he would die! He couldn't live without seeing Melcer's smiles and frowns, hearing his laughter or spell-casting. The entire world would be slanted and grey . . .

"Melcer!" He fell to his knees beside his brother and rolled him over, begging Bane to spare his life. He yelled for the servants, who fetched healing potions, but he couldn't think straight until two potions were down Melcer's throat and his wounds had started to heal.

"What happened?" Lander asked, propping up Melcer in his lap and using a damp cloth to wipe the blood from his face.

"That priest . . . who looks like he shares our heritage," Melcer gasped, obviously still in pain. "He's more powerful . . . than I imagined. To be so young . . . He must be . . . Chosen."

Lander frowned. "The part-Mulan priest?" He searched his memory. "Intelligence said his name is Tai Vatoshie." He hugged his brother closer. "I will kill him. I will go get the half-elf myself, and I'll kill that priest for having wounded you."

Melcer grabbed his arm. "Be careful. They are more than they seem."

"I'll be careful," Lander replied. "And they'll be dead."

* * *

Jarlaxle sighed just to feel the air leaving his chest. The pit's magical silence was wearing on his nerves, and he couldn't even talk or sing to himself to alleviate it. The ringing in his ears, which he had never noticed before, irritated him, but far worse was the fact that every plan he'd formed for escape had failed utterly. Without magic, free movement, or a pick axe, he couldn't do anything. 

His internal clock told him three hours had passed, but of course it had seemed much longer. Having exhausted all his escape plans, he had moved on to general plotting such as how to deal with Entreri's anger. After all, as an optimist, Jarlaxle still believed he would escape the pit. But thinking about Entreri made Jarlaxle consider several unpleasant things, including the room of mirrors and what it had shown him: himself old and decrepit, abandoned and alone.

Suddenly, Jarlaxle remembered Entreri's words on the day they'd fought over Tai's abduction by the wizard Socor. _"Do you really believe that you are forging connections with others by simply surrounding yourself with a group of associates? If you cannot trust a single one of them and cannot see them as anything but tools, then you are as alone as I."_

He was alone, of course. Both the Night Above and the Underdark had a similar maxim: "It is always lonely at the top." The saying had become cliché in several cultures, but Jarlaxle knew it was true, nonetheless. He could surround himself with lieutenants, allies, or women, but he was always apart from them. Always on guard, always watching their shifts in motivation or desire. He had wealth and power, they wanted it. He had soldiers and resources, they needed them. To stay alive was to not give out information too soon. To stay alive was to hold all the cards. Surrounded, surrounded, but always behind a wall of lies or tricks. The mask.

Entreri understood this. He had understood it even as he'd spoken the words. And yet the man was still at his side, had proven loyal to him during their imprisonment at Waylein's, their fight with Socor, and their battle with Mordecai. Even in a skirmish as small as the one with the allips, Entreri had assisted Jarlaxle, had shown concern for his welfare. This was who the man was when he stepped outside of his own box. Jarlaxle knew this, yet he had no faith in its durability. Such faith could not be chanced.

But the image of a husk of a drow needled his mind: rich but mad; powerful but withered. There had to be another answer.

Jarlaxle shivered, jerked out of his thoughts by how cold he'd become. His legs felt particularly cold, and he knew they were losing circulation. Since he wasn't supporting his weight, his feet didn't hurt, but at the same time, he could feel a tightness that suggested blood had pooled in his extremities. Not good.

Jarlaxle sighed again, beginning to feel stir crazy. He wasn't used to remaining in one location for long, much less being unable to move freely and interact with others. It wasn't that he hated to be alone—he needed time alone to plot and plan. But he preferred company, and he definitely preferred to move freely. What was more, he hated to be bored. He squirmed a bit, trying to ease his pain, but failing miserably.

Then his mind betrayed him and whispered the one thing he didn't want to think: _You really need Entreri to rescue you, and he might be unable to find you. What's more, even if he does find you, he might be so angry as to leave you._

A cold sweat broke out onto Jarlaxle's forehead. If Entreri betrayed him at this point, under these conditions, he would die of starvation, slowly and torturously. Since he seemed to have air, that was the only possible outcome unless the Stonars found him first. He wouldn't have to worry about being abandoned and insane in the future; he'd go mad and die in the present.

Jarlaxle didn't pray to any gods, but for once in his life, he was sorry he didn't.

* * *

Entreri and Nyx stood before the fork in the hallway, trying to decide which direction to take. Each side of the fork presented them with nothing more than a long, torchlit tunnel. 

"Should we split up?" Nyx asked. "We stand a better chance of finding Jarlaxle that way."

"You aren't skilled at defeating traps," Entreri replied. "If you get caught in one, you could get killed."

Nyx sighed. "True. But we could miss him if he doubles back."

The assassin frowned and unsheathed the dagger he kept in his boot. "That's solved easily enough." He pressed the dagger tip into the stone wall, scratching a faint message in the stone: **Jarlaxle, if you find this, wait here.** Then Entreri stabbed the dagger into the wall by the note. "That should take care of it."

Nyx nodded. "Right or left, then?"

Entreri shrugged. "Left." He walked past the monk, taking point so he could check for traps, and couldn't help wondering what kind of images the mirrors had shown Jarlaxle. What dark memories and fears might the confident elf be hiding?

Entreri sighed as one of his own illusions returned to his mind: the one in which he was an older man abusing his son. The assassin snorted, for it seemed ludicrous to him that he would ever have a child. Despite that, he was angered by the implication that he would treat his own flesh and blood in the same manner his father and uncle had treated him. He was neither that sick nor that pathetic!

Still, Entreri was uncomfortably reminded of Hector, the priest of Tyr he and Jarlaxle had encountered. Hector had accused Entreri of being exactly like his father—a man the assassin had resented all his life. Violent, cruel, selfish.

Entreri scowled, but now, like then, he couldn't ultimately argue the point. While Entreri's father had possessed several traits the assassin didn't have—weakness, perversion, and drunkenness, to name a few—both men thought first and foremost of their own survival, their own needs. And neither acted with any compassion. Likewise, now—like then—even this smallest comparison rankled Entreri's soul. He might not be running the risk of turning into his father, but he wouldn't accept that he had anything in common with that man at all!

Maybe the similarities he saw—the risk that seemed to be presenting itself—was the result of his not letting go. The mirrors in the trap obviously reflected a person's worst thoughts, so perhaps it had shown him what he was holding on to: grudges, pain, and rage. If Entreri released these things and the beliefs they generated, could he find the path he was searching for?

But how does a person let go of unforgiveness? When the anger he felt was the result of genuine injustice, how was Entreri supposed to release the grudge?

Entreri had no idea, so he set aside the question for the time being. His mission for the moment was finding Jarlaxle—a mission he planned to devote all his energy to, lest other images from the mirrors try to assert themselves:

The ones of his childhood.

* * *

Tai had left Miri and Darvin in their camp that night and then headed off to be alone for a while. He needed time to think, to reason out what had happened, and Miri seemed to need time to grieve Stormrider. 

He had done it again: he reached deeply inside of himself, accessed a burning amount of Hoar's power, and channeled divine energy he had no right to understand or use. It should have been impossible, except for one explanation: if he were the Chosen of Hoar . . .

"But I can't be," Tai whispered to himself, leaning against a tree. "I'm a no one! I'm the most unlikely person."

"Unlikely for what?" asked a soft voice.

Tai whirled around to see Miri standing only a few feet behind him. He hadn't heard her approach.

Miri clasped her hands behind her back and bit her lip. Her pine green tunic drew attention to her green eyes, and her pale blonde hair swirled about her shoulders. In short, she looked both wild and lovely to Tai.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you wanted to be alone, but I wanted to thank you for helping me escape." She stepped closer. "With your assistance, I was able to do it! I'm sure the divine energy you unleashed killed that Stonar man, which means there's no wizard to do whatever rite is needed to open the portal. So I really did divert destiny."

Tai raised an eyebrow. "The prophecy didn't mention any rites or spells, and the man could have survived. In fact, his brother could be coming for us this very minute. Let's not drop our guard."

"I won't, but without the wizard, it will take the other brother days to reach us. So I have hope we have succeeded." She bit her lip again. "Perhaps I must feel hope, considering Stormrider gave his life for this cause." Miri walked up to him and clasped his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Tai's hugged her to him, but his entire chest seized; it felt like a more pleasant version of the heart attack he'd experienced from Hoar's power and Set's mirror clashing. The heat built in his face, and he knew a blush raced over his cheeks and nose.

Miri leaned back, saw his expression, and smiled faintly. "Seeing that look on your face is enough to help me cheer up." She hesitated. "Shall we be honest with each other? We can't ignore our feelings much longer, can we?" She kissed the tip of his nose. "And I admit, I like that you don't rush in and try to paw me. I've had to break a few arms of some overexcited boys."

"Pawing you doesn't sound appealing to me," Tai managed to say, pushing the words past his tight throat. He placed his hands on her hips, but felt more nervous than ever. She had apparently kissed boys before, but he hadn't kissed any girls. His uncle had lived too far from town and kept him too busy training for Tai to find a girlfriend.

"Good. I approve of you, then, and I believe Stormrider did also." She caught his gaze and held it, and Tai saw the depth of her affection.

Comforted by this thought, Tai reached up to touch Miri's cheek and was embarrassed to see his fingers trembling. Why was it so difficult? Oh, it had always been difficult for him—just being around a girl he found attractive tongue-tied the priest and made him blush.

When Tai's long fingers made contact with Miri's soft skin, though, he found himself emboldened. He caressed her cheek and watched her smile, then slipped his hand behind Miri's head. The softness of her hair enchanted him, and he ran his fingers through it once before clasping his hand on the back of her neck. She'd already lifted her face, her eyes half-closed, and so collecting his courage, Tai brushed his lips across hers.

A lightning bolt seemed to crack inside of Tai's stomach as their lips met, and he inhaled sharply. He could feel the heat in his face, his pulse in his fingertips. Miri leaned into him and wove one arm around his waist, and he closed his mouth on hers again, a soft moan escaping him in the process. He encircled her waist as well, pulled her into him, and parted his lips in order to kiss her better.

Miri felt so happy she tightened her grip upon him. How slender he was! Delicate yet strong, for she could feel the muscles in his chest as she rested her free hand there. Intrigued, Miri slid her hand across the fabric and into the opening at Tai's collar. Warm skin met her fingertips, and she instantly wished he were bare-chested. Pressing against his body, she reached up to grasp his neck in the same way he grasped hers.

That action destroyed the moment for Tai. Miri's tightening grip on him had made him strangely uncomfortable, but the touch on his neck replaced his passion with terror. An icy wave crashed through him, accompanied by the feeling of being strangled, and Tai saw in his mind's eye the dark hallway where Mordecai had raped him. With a choked exclamation, he jerked himself free of Miri's embrace and pressed his hand to his throat.

Miri looked alarmed. "What is it? Tai! Did I hurt you?" She reached out to him, then dropped her arm when Tai backed away.

"Not . . . your fault," he said, his voice a wheeze. "I forgot . . . to—to warn you about my throat." It was a lie, but the priest didn't know how else to explain. He couldn't have guessed that the stranglehold Mordecai had held him in at the beginning of the rape would have had such lasting consequences.

"I'm sorry!" Miri looked so worried. She twisted her hands together and bit her lip, obviously wanting to help but not knowing how.

Tai stumbled backward until he found a log and then sat heavily. He still couldn't breathe well; his throat seemed to constrict further. The priest grasped for a memory—Entreri telling him to breathe, to focus on his gaze. Tai closed his eyes and remembered those dark grey eyes staring so intently at him, pinning him in place. That power of personality, that wall of strength and command that demanded Tai's complete attention. The cold assassin, so in control. Tai could have that control. He _did_ have that control through his communing with Hoar. _Touch the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth and breathe deeply,_ Tai repeated to himself, internally chanting the beginning of his communing ritual.

When the pressure eased, Tai opened his eyes and found Miri standing at his shoulder. Her look of concern invoked a warm tingling in his chest.

"Did someone choke you when you were a child?" she asked softly.

Close enough. "I couldn't breathe at all," the priest replied. "Complete suffocation." He quickly banished the memory of that sensation, not wanting to cause a second attack.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

Tai shook his head and stood. "No, truly. It's not your fault. Just don't touch my neck, and I'll be fine." His face burned with embarrassment, and he really just wanted to get past the moment.

Miri gave him a small smile. "If you say so."

Reaching out to her, Tai grabbed Miri's waist and pulled her close once more. Overcoming his past might be difficult, but Tai would not let his first kiss or his first relationship be ruined. He bent his head, and Miri met him halfway, their lips brushing as they kissed again.

* * *

Darvin withdrew quietly from the brushes, sprinted a hundred feet away, and then collapsed to his hands and knees on the leave-strewn forest floor. Tai had kissed her! Kissed! That pretentious, countrified, home-grown mama's boy had kissed Miri! 

"Bastard!" he hissed.

An idiot who hadn't even known what the Codex was didn't even come close to being good enough for her! Besides, no one could ever love Miri has much as he did. Darvin had already dreamed their entire future together. They would establish residence in Miri's father's mansion, then they would travel from town to town dispensing Hoar's justice to the weak. Eventually they would settle down and have a family of their own—two boys and two girls. How dare this total stranger and would-be priest march right in and claim Miri's first kiss! Tai barely knew her, and Darvin had loved her for his entire life.

Darvin punched the ground and growled. And Miri herself! What was she thinking? She knew better. Darvin had been protecting her since they were children, and he would save her now. She knew how deeply he cared for her. What was she trying to accomplish by playing around with some poor bumpkin who didn't realize the way she collected and then discarded friends? All her life, she'd flitted from friend to friend, immersing herself in their individuality and then growing bored with them. Her only exception, other than her family, had been Darvin. Darvin would always be the one she never grew tired of. They had always secretly loved each other, and they always would!

He would confront her about it. Not now—he was too angry—but tonight after he had calmed. Tonight he would set Miri straight, and tomorrow he'd make everything crystal clear to Tai. In fact, tomorrow they would part company with Tai permanently.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! I really, really appreciate it, as always. Your feedback keeps me motivated, and your reactions to characters and their predicaments helps me to fine-tune._


	7. Truth

**Chapter Seven**

Jarlaxle stared with abject boredom at the stone wall before him. For a while he'd talked and sung to himself just to feel his chest vibrate, but making the sound without being able to hear it was beginning to spook him. As a result, the oppressive silence had drawn the ringing in his ears into such fine contrast that it sounded deafening.

He'd tried everything: plotting, planning, daydreaming, exercising his arms, popping his neck, rubbing his face, playing with his rings and necklaces, and counting backward from one million to one in two different human languages, alternating each number between each language. Still, six hours had passed according to his internal clock, and now all he was aware of was the silence, the numbing cold that made his ears and nose ache, and the pain in his back and legs from being caught in a standing position.

Left alone with his thoughts for so long, Jarlaxle found himself returning once again to his argument with Entreri and the assassin's unspoken accusation of betrayal. Every time he considered argument, he found himself fixated on the image of himself as a dried up husk, insane and alone in a world of power and wealth but without friends or companionship.

Was it true? Had he really betrayed his allies in his heart? Was withholding his true self really an act of treachery? Was withholding information a lie?

Actually, it was, he admitted to himself, but who could blame him? He had survived centuries in Menzoberranzan this way. The moment he was born, his mother and siblings had betrayed him, and he'd fought oppression and deception all his life, both during and after his creation of an all male organization. What suicidal notion could possess him that would make him express any true part of himself to anyone?

And why would it be different now? Entreri was an assassin—a man who had lived a life much like a drow's. Tai and Nyx were the loyal servants of a vengeance god. Things were safer the way he'd already organized them, and the benefit was mutual, given his own resources. In fact, he'd given Entreri the two greatest gifts he had to offer: the commitment to helping the man enjoy his life, and the knowledge that the way in which one most limits oneself is through self-lies.

"Self-lies," Jarlaxle said aloud, knowing suddenly the path which would take him to either of those horrible future images. And from his memory sprang the words he'd said to Entreri months ago on the night Tai was raped: "'All the internal hells that beings—human or drow—reside in are the result of believing some lie is truth. If you expose and let go of the lie, you will both rid yourself of the hell and empower yourself.'"

That was all good and well, but what was the lie? That his human companions would betray him? That trusting someone would make him sacrifice some aspect of himself? Jarlaxle put his hand on his chest, right over his heart. He was too experienced and self-assured to lose his identity. Besides, he had the mask.

But who was the self behind the mask? Who was the person under the walking armory? Even stripped naked, in bed with a woman, he wasn't defenseless. If he lifted up the mask even an inch to show anyone the person underneath, who would they find? Or was the person under the mask already dead, killed by the paranoia and cruelty of drow society, and all that his friends would find would be a dried up husk, the mummified remains of an elf?

So the image in the mirror might not be the future, but the present.

The truth of that possibility hit Jarlaxle harder that he could have ever imagined. Shocked both by the realization and its impact, he placed his hands against his prison walls, but the stone leached all remaining warmth from his body. It was as though his blood pumped outward from his heart, through his arms, and out into the stone, leaving him frozen and dead. A statue. All his power, weapons, and wealth seemed to fall away from him in that moment, forever destroyed by the pit's magical barrier, and for the first time, he saw something he had only suspected once before: he was empty. Utterly empty.

Suddenly, Jarlaxle felt overwhelmed by the pit's silence and cramped space. His arms, hands, and face burned with cold, and his legs and feet had gone completely numb. The stone walls seemed to constrict, pressing closer inward, and the drow felt like he couldn't breathe.

He gasped and pressed his hands against his chest as though he could force more air into his lungs. He needed air. He needed to move. He needed sound, warmth, and contact with another creature! Anything except this endless silence, the contrasting ringing in his ears, and the burning coldness.

"Artemis!" he yelled with all his soul, but his inability to hear made him feel like he couldn't breathe again. He needed to be set free, now. He needed to be set free forever.

* * *

Entreri felt tired. He and Nyx had searched the entire left tunnel, retraced their steps, and then traveled down the right tunnel. How far had Jarlaxle walked? Had he really left them behind to die? In his rage, Entreri had accused him of planning such, but he wasn't sure he'd believed the drow would truly do it. Maybe that had been foolish.

"I see light ahead," Nyx murmured, her voice faint and slurred; he knew she was as tired as he.

Entreri focused on the corridor before him, looking beyond the torchlight to see a flicker of brighter, clearer illumination. Sunshine? He traded looks with Nyx and jogged toward the light, quickly coming upon a new room. This room was small and circular, containing nothing more than a swirling, crimson pattern on the floor and a door with sunlight dancing around its edges.

"It appears to be an exit, so maybe he's left already," Nyx said.

"No," Entreri replied in a tight voice. He pointed to the oversized purple hat that lay at the room's edge. "He would never willingly separate from his hat." A creeping fear tickled up his throat like a scurrying spider. "He set off a trap in here."

The assassin fell to his knees, searching for a trigger. A loose stone, maybe? A wire? A pressure plate? The crimson markings and black circle on the floor suggested a rune, but there had to be a trigger. Entreri drew his vampiric dagger and tapped the floor in several places; after a few moments, a pressure plate revealed itself. With nearly inhuman speed, Entreri set about disarming it.

The crimson swirl on the floor emitted a soft red glow that turned pink and then vanished.

"Did you get it?" Nyx asked.

"Got it," Entreri replied, his gaze zeroing in upon the black circle in the room's center. He realized suddenly that it was no longer a painted mark, but a lid. He jumped up and raced over to the lid, tearing it off the hole. Glancing inside, he saw a small drow blinking up at him from the bottom. The blue, swirling glow at Jarlaxle's feet concerned Entreri, but the swirl vanished and left nothing but a normal stone floor. Had the elf's feet been caught in something?

"Artemis?" Jarlaxle asked, his voice oddly strained. From Entreri's vantage point, the drow looked smaller than normal, almost childlike. He was still blinking and now held a hand above his eyes, as though the sudden light hurt him.

All of Entreri's frustration and anger seemed to swoosh out of him, replaced by an exhaustion that the assassin suspected belonged to parents of overly rambunctious children. "Yes, Jarlaxle. It is I." He stretched his hand downward. "I'll finish taking a strip out of you later. Levitate up here so we can leave this place."

Jarlaxle made a strange choking sound and looked down.

An emotion Entreri couldn't identify shot through his gut like an acidic arrow. "Jarlaxle? Are you injured?"

A long pause. "Yes. It's minor." The voice didn't sound like Jarlaxle's. The strain and fragility in the tone flew in the face of everything the elf projected. "This place dispels magic; I cannot levitate."

"Are you sure? I defeated the trap." The assassin felt almost as though he were trying to draw a wounded dog out from under a cart; the sensation jarred him. He couldn't imagine Jarlaxle hurt in any way, just like Nyx had said—he didn't see Jarlaxle as made of flesh and blood. Entreri shook his head to clear the thoughts. "I will lower a rope, then."

"Allow me to try levitation again first." Now Jarlaxle's voice sounded flat in a forced way, as though he were expending all his energy to control an overwhelming emotion.

"Very well." Entreri felt a surge of worry. Intense, irrational, overpowering worry. For once in his life, he didn't try to bury it, deflect it, or ignore it. He wanted Jarlaxle up beside him immediately so he could ascertain how the drow was hurt.

Jarlaxle touched the Bregan D'arthe emblem on his chest and began to rise; he still wasn't looking up. Entreri didn't retract his hand, however, and when the drow reached the opening, Entreri pulled him sideways and forced him to the ground, so that the drow sat on the pit's edge and Entreri crouched beside him. Jarlaxle still wouldn't meet his eyes, and he seemed extremely tense.

"Let me see your injury," Entreri demanded, and when Jarlaxle didn't respond, he began patting him down, looking for blood and checking for broken bones. To his astonishment, he realized Jarlaxle was faintly trembling, but the assassin didn't indicate he knew it.

_Shock?_ the assassin wondered. He'd need to see if Jarlaxle's eyes were dilated to know for sure, but the drow's skin was cold to the touch. He ran his hands over Jarlaxle's scalp to see if there were any head injuries, and finding none, was at a loss. He'd checked the drow's arms and legs already, but all he'd found were a few cuts on his hands. Maybe a broken rib? He poked down his chest, testing, and found nothing. Perhaps the fracture was in the back of his ribs? Entreri stood on his knees and reached around the drow to run both hands down his back.

Jarlaxle relaxed suddenly, and Entreri was so startled he sat back down. The drow didn't say anything, however; he simply stared at his knees with a tiny, unstable smile on his face.

"I can't find the injury," Entreri said, uncertain how to take Jarlaxle's behavior. He glanced back at Nyx, who shrugged at him. She apparently shared his confusion.

"My ankle," Jarlaxle said quietly.

Entreri considered the drow's swashbuckler-style boots and decided it was understandable that he'd missed the injury. "Anything else?"

The drow's smile was bitter. "Ultimately, no. I need to wait for the circulation to completely return to my legs, but past that, it was simply an effective trap."

Entreri traded a second look with Nyx, who raised an eyebrow and pointed to her head and her heart. She then turned and pointedly looked away, which Entreri thought was odd. When he glanced back at Jarlaxle, though, he decided there might be some sense to her gesture. The drow was clenching his jaw so hard Entreri could see the muscles near his ear ripple.

Feeling entirely awkward and out of his element, Entreri put his hand on Jarlaxle's back again. The drow seemed to unconsciously arch into the touch, because he blinked suddenly then turned his gaze upon the assassin and genuinely smiled.

"I think my ankle is merely sprained. Like I said, a minor injury." Jarlaxle seemed to be trying to flit past his obvious pain, trying to force himself back into his normal behavioral patterns.

However, Entreri saw a hollowness in the drow's eyes he'd never seen before, and for a strange moment he was back in Waylein's dungeon, back in that endless night of being tortured by the sadistic madman. Back in the moment when he'd been returned to Jarlaxle after the torture. He'd awakened and found the drow hovering over him, and he'd looked into the drow's eyes and tried to express his thoughts, only to fail.

Entreri had an impulse he didn't understand and immediately killed it. He sighed and dropped his hand from the drow's back. "Well, can you walk, then?"

Jarlaxle's façade slipped further back in place, but his tenseness and bitter smile returned. "Certainly!"

Entreri experienced an inexplicable moment of anger at himself, and being one who acted first and rationalized later, he allowed the mysterious impulse to return and followed it through. "Hells!" he cursed at himself.

Jarlaxle blinked, but the assassin didn't give him a chance to react further. He stood on his knees again, reached out with both arms, and hugged the drow to him. "You're like a block of ice," Entreri snapped, scowling. "It's a wonder you have any circulation at all, but I guess that's your fault for wearing such flimsy clothes."

For a moment, Jarlaxle was closer to an ice sculpture with his arms caught in mid-motion, as though he'd tried to pull away and reach for a weapon simultaneously. After a long moment in which Entreri wondered if he'd get stabbed, the drow suddenly relaxed with a soft chuckle and slowly wrapped his arms around Entreri's waist and under his heavier cloak. Entreri could feel him completely relax.

Nyx, who was transparently ignoring this breach of the Code of True Manhood, carefully studied the room's upper corner as though the secrets of the celestial realms were written there. Still, Entreri felt awkward and embarrassed, or part of him did. The other part seemed to find it all perfectly normal, which mystified the assassin.

_I wonder if Jarlaxle has ever been hugged before,_ Entreri thought, staring down at the drow's shaved head, which was growing faint stubble. _I can't imagine drow do such things. Too kind._ Suddenly, the moment seemed surreal, and Entreri couldn't fathom why it was such a big deal to hug another person. Yet during all his adult life, the assassin hadn't let anyone hug him except Dwahvel.

This line of thought told Entreri his defenses were too low, but with the drow melted against him, he couldn't seem to conjure a sense of alarm. All he did was reach up and run a finger across the white stubble making itself known on Jarlaxle's scalp. The drow stirred like someone who had fallen half-asleep, and in that moment Entreri understood that to Jarlaxle, forced isolation was a fate worse than death. He had to have someone to chat with (or at), people to direct, manage, and plan with, and an audience to experience his overly-dramatic fashion, strategies, and humor. In short, Jarlaxle needed others.

Entreri found himself smiling at his wild partner.

"What?" Jarlaxle said, pulling away and rubbing his hand over his head. "Oh, I see. I really do need to shave—I can hardly allow my image to be ruined." In that instant, he had recovered himself like a recharged wand. He was Jarlaxle again, confident, unstoppable, and full of energy.

Entreri now found himself grinning uncontrollably, for in that same instant, Jarlaxle suddenly seemed _human_. The assassin immediately found his footing, his even ground. Jarlaxle was no longer the impenetrable enigma or the dangerous obstacle; he was a person. Something clicked inside of Entreri's mind, down to his very soul, and he knew what to do now.

Entreri stood and held out his hand, grasping Jarlaxle's firmly and hauling him to his feet. "Come on," the man said impatiently, pulling Jarlaxle along behind him and toward the door that led outside. "I'm not going to carry you out of here."

"Well, I do not need to be carried," Jarlaxle replied with a smile. He pulled away and stooped to retrieve his hat.

Nyx joined them, and Entreri felt so totally grounded, he gave her a mock smirk. She was already smiling, apparently amused by the drow's return to his normal theatrics.

"Don't worry, Jarlaxle," Entreri called over his shoulder. "We already know you're a demigod." He glanced back at the limping but determined drow. "But that doesn't get you off the hook for getting us in this mess."

Jarlaxle sneered, but Entreri just laughed.

* * *

Darvin stoked the campfire, waiting for Miri to return from her bath in the nearby creek. The orange flames shot higher, consuming the wood with hungry popping and snapping sounds. Across the fire, Tai polished his dagger and hummed to himself, no doubt pondering what an incredible hero he was. The fool. However, Darvin was distracted from his thoughts when Miri entered the campfire's radius, brushing her wet hair out of her face and smiling.

Darvin stood and smiled back. "Here, warm up by the fire."

"Thank you," she said, kneeling.

"After you're warm, would you please give me a moment of your time?" Darvin asked, pointing to a second clearing just a few yards beyond their camp.

Miri looked up at him, her brow furrowed, then her features softened. "Certainly."

Darvin nodded and wound his way through the trees. He could hear Miri and Tai talking as he left, but he paid it no attention. It was of no matter; soon this entire misunderstanding would be cleared up. And that's all it was: a small bit of flirting piled on top of a misunderstanding.

Darvin stopped in the dark clearing and peered up through the break in the leafy canopy. All of heaven was his witness: the crescent moon and the swath of stars arching across the sky—pinpricks of yellow, red, and white. The heavens would watch as Darvin made the situation clear to Miri and then officially proposed to her. From his astral palace, Hoar would witness this oath as well, and then Tai could not move against it without invoking their god's wrath. Yes, both the natural and the supernatural would oversee Darvin's goal this night. Darvin withdrew the stiletto dagger Tai had lent him and pricked his fingertip, squeezing a drop of blood out for the sake of his oath.

Miri entered the clearing and smiled at him. "What did you need to talk about?"

Without a fuller moon to illuminate her silken blonde hair, Darvin couldn't fully appreciate her beauty, but the starlight and the campfire glow, which filtered through the trees, allowed him to worship her pale skin and curves. "Us."

"Us?" She sounded wary and defensive, and that made Darvin uneasy.

"Yes, us." He frowned. "I saw him kiss you earlier, but that's not the issue. The issue is that I love you, and I know you love me. It's time for us to move past the unspoken and make our intentions official. I'm sorry I didn't propose sooner; if I had, you wouldn't have been seduced."

Miri put her hands on her hips—a bad sign. "Seduced? I'm not some innocent maiden unaware of the wiles of the world or some dimwit who can be charmed into handing herself away." She shook her head. "Besides, there is no agreement between us spoken or unspoken. We are friends. That is all we have ever been and all we will ever be."

Darvin growled. She could be so obstinate! "_Women!_ I swear, I don't understand how you think. Friends are people you flit around with for a season. Admit it. We have always been together, and we always will be. It's destiny."

"Of course I've run around with many friends, but I—" Miri stopped, dropping her arms and clenching her fists. "Wait. Destined? Don't speak to me of destiny! You, of all people, should know better. I make my own decisions, regardless of what anyone else thinks or says! I will not allow anyone—and I mean anyone—dictate to me. Not a prophecy, not my father, and not my friends."

"I'm not dictating to you!" Darvin threw his arms wide in exasperation, and Miri stepped back as the blade of the dagger swished by her face. "Sorry." He dropped his arms to his sides. "As I said," he continued, "I'm not dictating to you. You're right—you're not stupid or naïve. You've known all along how I feel about you and what I wanted for us; don't deny it. Why are you trying to ditch me after all this time?"

Miri slapped her hands against her temples. "Darvin!" She sighed explosively. "I'm a druid, not a mind reader. I grew up with you. I spent every afternoon playing games with you, even learned to read and write with you. You have always been my brother—the only other half elf in our town near my age. I never imagined your feelings for me had become sexual in nature."

Darvin stomped up to her and grabbed her shoulder with his free hand. "You had to have noticed! How could you not have after all I've done for you?"

"So now all your kindness and help are a price to buy my love?" Miri glared at him. "You do not give freely from the heart, but expect something in return?"

"No!" Darvin exclaimed, stung by the truth of his motives, and his grip on her shoulder tightened. Or were her words true? He did all he did out of love. Should that effort not be rewarded?

"Now let me go!" Miri tried to pull away, but Darvin held fast.

"Hear me out." He tightened his grip again. "I love you, and I always have. We are meant to be together! So please be my wife, and break off your attentions to that half-baked priest." He jerked his head toward their camp.

"Half-baked?" Miri stared at him. "You're raging with jealousy! You're so jealous you can't think straight. Tai is a kind, intelligent, thoughtful person. I'm attracted to him, and he is to me. So just leave us alone! It's not like we're talking marriage—I'm not ready to marry anyone. I'm only 17! I want to explore the world first, see the greatest sites nature has to offer! You can't do that with a family. Families require responsibility, stability, and commitment. I'm not ready for that!"

Darvin was astonished. What was her issue? "You're just selfish!"

"No, you are!" Miri finally jerked free of his grasp. "You're not thinking of all the diapers I'll have to change, all the meals I'll have to cook. You're not thinking of the way I'll have to give up being an active druid in order to rear your children, and how I'll no longer have any time to myself. In the meantime, you will still be you, with your job and your identity."

Darvin stared at Miri in absolute stupefaction. "What kind of rant is that? I will not leave you to do all the work alone! I know many women in Faerun have it hard, but it won't be like that with me. I will help you with all the chores. In fact, I plan for us to be well-off enough that we can hire maids and tutors."

Miri snorted. "All men say that they'll help out while they court a woman, and all men plan to be rich. Either rarely happen." She shook her head. "Don't lie to me. Don't say things you don't really mean, and don't make promises you won't keep. Tell me what you really want and expect, and I'll tell you if I can accept it or not." She sighed. "Why are we even talking about this? I already told you I'm not interested in you that way."

Darvin grabbed her shoulder again. "When did you get so cynical? I had no idea you felt this way!"

She yanked away. "I don't know why. I've been making these comments the whole time we've been growing up, watching my aunt slave to take care of me in my mother's absence. My aunt lost her entire life to be the stand-in wife and mother to a family that wasn't hers. All the pain and none of the benefits."

"That was your aunt!"

"And the mother of every one of my many friends you mentioned earlier!" Miri threw up her arms. "I'm telling you—I don't wanted to be married right now, and I don't want to marry you! It would be like marrying my brother!"

"Stop it, Miri!" Darvin grabbed for her again, but she evaded him. Losing his temper, he lunged forward, snatching up her arm with his free hand and swiping at her with his other—completely forgetting the dagger.

Darvin felt the blade impact against Miri's body; she screamed and twisted away from him, falling to the ground face first. He halted, horrified, and raised the dagger to see blood. Panicking, he threw the blade away from him and dropped to Miri's side, pulling her up and into his lap. Blood gushed from a wound in her neck, and she was holding her hand over it in a vain attempt to stop the flow.

Miri smiled at him, a smile without humor. "Or I could just die due to a man's jealous rage."

Darvin's eyes welled up with tears, and a harsh sob cracked out of his chest. "No, please don't. Don't die. I didn't mean to hurt you! I love you."

A brilliant flash of crimson light drew their gaze to the spot where Miri had fallen. A vortex of black and scarlet energy snapped into existence, burrowing through the ground like an extra-dimensional whirlpool. Leaves and twigs circled through the air from the wind generated by the portal, and streaks of red lightning shot from the edges down into the black hole forming at the center.

"No," Miri whispered, her bloody hand falling away from her neck. "I failed! After all this, I failed!"

* * *

_A/N: As always, thank you to everyone who reads and reviews. One more chapter to go!_


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Tai heard a scream from his left and immediately jumped up from the campfire he was building and ran. He had heard Darvin's and Miri's raised voices but not their words, and had decided to stay out of the way. The two half-elves had been friends for a dozen years, and Tai knew any interference he offered could only worsen the situation, especially since he suspected that he was what they were arguing about. At the sound of Miri's scream however, Tai abandoned his resolve.

The priest dodged trees as he raced through the forest, holding up his arms to block the impact of small branches and leaves. How far way had they walked? Was Miri all right? It was deadly silent now; did that mean Darvin had knocked her out? Surely not. She was a tough fighter, trained to defend herself.

A crimson light shone through the brush now, casting a bloody glow upon tree roots and dead leaves. A cold burn shot through Tai's lungs. The illumination was not natural, and the shadows it created appeared darker in contrast, making the braches seem skeletal. The whispering leaves in the breeze sounded like rattling chains.

Tai burst through the undergrowth to find Darvin holding Miri in his lap. Blood streaked down her throat and chest, soaking her pine green shirt. She looked dead. Beside them, a magic vortex swirled in the ground like a bloody whirlpool, which had created a wind that thrashed the trees and had opened a hole that was already a half-foot across.

For an agonizing moment, Tai couldn't react. The scene presented two horrors, two dangers that both called upon his sense of morality. Then his growing feelings for Miri won control. "Miri-_sen_!" He sprinted to her side and fell to his knees so he could check her pulse.

"I didn't mean to, I swear," Darvin said, not looking up. "It was an accident. I forgot the dagger was in my hand, and I just got mad, you know? She just kept arguing back, you know? She wasn't listening, and I reached out and . . . It was an accident, I swear."

"Shut up!" Tai snapped, enraged by the babbling and excuses. As if there could ever be an excuse for such abuse. Miri was barely breathing! He wanted to thrash the man, scream at him, even execute him in the name of Hoar. But the time was not now.

Darvin did as told, and Tai reigned in his concentration, holding his hands over Miri and praying to Hoar. The burn of healing power seemed to pass through the top of his skull and shoot down his arms into his fingers, and his hands glowed soft gold as the power passed into Miri. The gash in her neck shone white for an instant, and then Tai saw the skin pulling closed. The wound turned pink and then vanished, leaving only a pale golden spot on her neck where Hoar's power had collected.

Miri opened her eyes, and after a moment of looking dazed, focused on Tai. "I failed," she whispered.

The ache in her gaze and voice made tears come to Tai's eyes; his throat felt tight. "Not your fault."

Yet even as he said the words, he noticed the vortex expanding and filling the woods with crimson light and thrashing wind. A few bats escaped from the center hole and screeched as they disappeared into the night.

"We have to go," Tai said. Now that Miri had been healed, all his fear had transferred to the portal.

"Yes, we must go, and quickly," Darvin said, his words belied by his monotone voice; it seemed as enough all his emotions had vanished. "I'm blessed today by Hoar with the gift of speedy travel." He was staring past Miri and Tai at a point in the vortex. "I can get Miri and myself back to Loudwater in a matter of moments." He turned his gaze toward Tai. "I can't call upon enough power to take three, though."

"Back to Loudwater?" Miri sat up, her platinum hair falling disheveled around her face. "Why? And what makes you think I want to go anywhere with you!" She thumped one fist against Darvin's chest. "You nearly killed me!"

Darvin flinched and folded his arms across his stomach as though he'd be ill.

"The damage is done," Tai answered in his place. "Now we have to determine how to close the portal. Mirir, perhaps your family can help us figure out how. Not to mention that you'll need some rest after losing so much blood." He stood and offered his hand. "Besides, I don't think Darvin is a current danger to you, but I know this portal is."

Miri allowed Tai to pull her to her feet, but she didn't release his hand. "Very well. I will go with him. But how will you get there?"

Darvin stood as well, but he just stared at the ground as the question hung awkwardly in the air.

"During my nightly prayers yesterday, I prayed an unusual prayer thanks to our circumstances. I have Hoar's blessing on my travels as well." Tai squeezed Miri's hand and let go. "I'm going to find my friends first, and then I'll—"

"I'll find you," Miri interrupted.

They didn't have time to argue. Miri took Tai's dagger from Darvin, and then Darvin pressed his palms together, praying to his god. From between his palms, a purple light shone forth like a thin beam, and the light flashed outward, slicing the air like a purple knife. The cut widened, opening a small, unstable dimensional door.

Darvin gestured to Miri. "Go quickly; it won't hold for long."

She nodded and jumped through. However, before following her, Darvin handed Tai his copy of the Assurian Codex.

"You may need this." Darvin wouldn't meet Tai's gaze.

Tai accepted the Codex. "Indeed." It was a gesture of peace, he realized, but there was no peace to be had. Darvin could not undo the damage—not to Miri's heart, and not to the world once the portal finished opening.

Darvin nodded at the blunt response and stepped through the doorway, which immediately closed. Tai sighed and prepared himself to channel a gift from his god that he had never wanted to use—one that would force him to allow his feet to leave the ground.

* * *

Entreri sighed and then glared at the black stone wall of the Stonar castle. After their escape from the round room and the maze, the assassin had spent thirty minutes brainstorming ways to breach the walls without triggering the enchantment on them. Every idea he'd proposed had been shot down by himself, Nyx, or Jarlaxle. His frustration was mounting.

In the meantime, Nyx had gone into Older Sister Mode over Jarlaxle, which Entreri found ironic since the drow was twenty times her age. Still, she'd bound his swollen ankle and bandaged his cut hand; Jarlaxle had watched her intently as she's applied medicinal herbs to his wound and extracted a few shards of broken glass from his palms. She'd even chatted with him as she'd worked, teasing him about temporarily losing his hat, almost as though she were trying to distract him from his pain.

From the corner of his vision, Entreri could see Jarlaxle smiling at her—true appreciation and not an act. And something in her care reminded Entreri of a long lost memory, a fluttering of past hazy images he couldn't quite call into focus. Strangely, Nyx suddenly seemed human to him, just like Jarlaxle. It was as though Entreri could sense the soul in her chest or see the personality in her gaze. Her auburn curls could be tousled or tangled, her pale skin could be dusty or burnt, and the blood in her veins could drench her leather vest and leave her a corpse. She could live or die, and it would make a difference.

It had been a long, strange day.

But Entreri had to wonder what had he seen in Nyx and Jarlaxle. A moment of fear or care, vulnerability or compassion? And why had that made them seem real? Somehow they had passed from the shadows and simulacra of the mechanical world he had to manipulate in order to survive, and had turned into living flesh that could be caressed or cut, gashed or healed. Entreri had no idea why he was concerned for his comrades, especially when he wasn't sure he saw his own flesh as worthy of such care and treatment.

Maybe that was part of the problem.

Meanwhile, Jarlaxle had focused his attention toward the sky, and Nyx pointed her finger and exclaimed. Entreri turned to see the cause of the fuss and glimpsed an unbelievably large bird flying over the tree tops. Then he realized the wings were shaped wrong; in fact, the wings looked more like a tautly held cape, and—

"That's a person!" Entreri said, shocked.

Nyx shook her head in disbelief. "It's Tai!"

Tai descended and hit the ground with a roll, regaining his feet in one fluid movement. His eyes were almost all black pupil, and the blood had so drained from his face that he looked ashen-yellow.

"Tai!" Nyx shouted, running up to him.

He simply stared at her. "I will never, ever, ever do that again."

Jarlaxle had limped up beside Nyx and was laughing. "That's a shame. It was beautifully executed."

Entreri thought Tai was insane: birds and dragons were made to fly; humans were not. Better to teleport if necessary.

Tai shook himself all over like a wet dog and then held up his hands for silence. "We have trouble. The portal is already open."

Nyx clenched both fists against her chest. "Miri is dead?"

Tai shook his head. "No. I'll explain later. Right now, countless monsters are being released into our world, or so I would assume given how quickly the portal was growing."

Tai and Nyx looked to Jarlaxle, who had been taking the lead in decision making. Jarlaxle, however, glanced at Entreri.

"Well," Jarlaxle said with a small smile. "Ideas? Suggestions?"

Nyx stiffened, apparently remembering that she was supposed to be angry at Jarlaxle for plotting behind their backs. Entreri, though, gave the elf a half smile. Jarlaxle's response told him what he needed to know—the drow was making a true effort to be his partner, at least for now. Time would prove if they had finally reached an understanding.

However, Entreri wasn't sure which would prove more difficult—banging out the wrinkles in his friendship with Jarlaxle or defeating the Stonars and their new monsters.

The assassin crossed his arms and smiled crookedly. "Well, I always have liked a challenge."

* * *

Lander sank into the maroon wingback chair beside Melcer's four poster bed and gazed upon his brother, who was propped up on pillows. Despite the healing potions, Melcer was still pale, and his exhaustion was evident from the grey bags under his eyes.

"I will personally kill the man who did this to you," Lander whispered, clasping his twin's hand.

Melcer's black eyes did not turn toward him; he stared across the room at his reflection, which shone in a gilded oval mirror. "I failed you."

"Untrue." Lander squeezed his hand. "We both continually underestimated them because they are young. Besides, in the end we have what we want—after a fashion.

The black eyes refocused on Lander. "The portal is open? How?"

Lander chuckled, released his brother's hand, and leaned back in the wingback. "One of the priests attacked the girl."

Melcer pulled away from the pillows to sit upright. "But the one who opens the portal is the one who controls the monsters!"

Lander grinned. "Yes, I know. And one of our own priests tells me the attack occurred out of male jealousy."

Melcer stared for a long moment, apparently trying to grasp the significance of the observation, then scowled. "You mean to manipulate his jealousy and use him, but I'm not so sure he'll be easily led."

Lander shrugged. "He violently attacked the woman he loves. That tells me all I really need to know."

Melcer shook his hand. "No. No, we shouldn't continue this. We should find out how to close the portal before we are killed. This had become far more dangerous than we imagined, and given how adept these kids have proven, they could figure out how to control the monsters first."

Lander shrugged again. "Unlikely."

"Or figure out how to close the portals themselves."

"No one is completely sure how to do that." Lander crossed his legs and smoothed the folds from his silk tunic. "But the one clue we have suggests a course of action they would never take."

"Kill the girl."

"But of course. It's always about blood. Blood is the cycle of life."

Melcer nodded. "What of the drow and his companions?"

"What of them? They're unbalanced from your room of mirrors, and they've been fighting amongst themselves. If they really can rally, we'll finish them."

Melcer hid his concerns, smiled, and squeezed his brother's arm. His brother had never led them wrong; surely this time would be no different. Lander was the epitome of the successful Zhent. "That's my confident brother. Always sure, always right."

Lander grinned and patted his hand. "And always the victor."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. Thank you to Darhelmetj, Chi, and Rezuri, who beta read parts or wholes. I appreciate all the patience, input, and help. _

About 7000 words have been written on the sequel, but not in a sequence. I have several key scenes and the climax, but not a solid chapter. It may be some months before I begin posting again, but the trilogy will be completed. 


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